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--- L E O N A R D   G O N T A R E K

The poem wears a see-through blouse.

The poem wears a Vaishnava tilak.

The poem's nipples are clearly visible.

The poem gyrates suggesting sex with a guitar player.

If the poem were God it wouldn't get away with it.

If our troubles fell like crows into trees at dusk from summers, it wouldn't matter.

Nothing would matter.

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