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Old patient song! I know what suit you wear,
whose mother you were, where

you’ve hidden the pearls.
O to be your burning rib, your heartthread,

a black braid—Remember! You are one
of us! Though the city is far and the season

green. Or, if you like, light haze
around the skull, the ancient spellings

of vestigial bone. You have tried to be bad,
living beneath the world. I never think

of you. Tell me the truth.

I never think of you.