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We took a walk in the park today
Where the air trembled with nothingness,
Somewhat damp,
And a squirrel held his tale like a boa--
Nothing, to him.
Or was it being? With a fonted sky
Toiled over with words convexed, concaved:
The bulging topology of clouds,
Wisped, perhaps, by prickly italics.
At any rate, our thoughts seemed as fellows,
And no vapor arose about us.