The uni of Brazil, fond soup simmering in ancient pot over sunlit fire where steam and smoke conjoin a marriage kiss in line with awestruck porridge bliss.

Roots beneath all manner of tree, try, seem sudden starkly seen to combine in sky minus clumps of clod yet mysteriously winged by trigonomic cos and sine algorithmic, an angled foretaste meant to dent the bent of coming rain unsought.

Unfiltered parrot polychrome is thought to laughing speak the smiling golden beak untaught Portuguese for la casa blanca, and peering eye of mine at midnight casts aside all poison fears as I see in flicker of flame the face of friend with teardrop glistening eye remembering his favorite dead daughter died this night. In whirring whirl of what recurs always never same save bright bird’s vicious caw in foreign tongue sad doctor words from song unsung, the predawn flowerspeak of little girls

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