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One can say:
I don’t want to be a frog,
A cup of coffee, a windshield wiper, a surgeon.
As usual, stones and animals don’t speak in the fields
Nor do birds in the sky.
Some beast, though, might flaunt its horns and tail
On the outskirts of mercurial pain,
Forced to remember the dates it hates,
Forced to consume jackboots, rainbows, utility poles,
Burning curtains, light bulbs and hens
That hide their spectacles in the foliage,
All the legacy of a silent eye:
The timeless have no embassy to take care of them.



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