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I sway and glaze in stumbling heat; my eyes
wonder at the dancing dots; I see smells,
do you? The fresh-laid tar is twilight skies:
you see its dark aroma, yes? The bells
feel like shattering stars; privetís casting spells
today. You see me sway: you surely see,
as well, the underworld? The Book of Kells?
I cling to consciousness; I laugh that we
have mingled minds like scent Ė my blithe surmise
felt real as smells and colours. Heatstroke lies.
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