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Out of nothing there comes a time called childhood, which
Is simply a path leading through an archway called
Adolescence. A small town there, past the arch called youth.
Soon, down the road, where one almost misses the life
Lived beyond the flower, is a small shack labeled, you.
And it is here the future lives in the several postures of
Arm on windowsill, cheek on this; elbows on knees, face in
The hands; sometimes the head thrown back, eyes staring into
The ceiling. . . This into nothing down the long day’s arc. . .


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You