Bob Marcacci



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moved he was he many-headed accumulator
strophe on the left and at best

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his many-eyed wonder at a world and all
it twirled in a grey light and whirled on

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glimmer in a wordy many-tongued media morph
even old and older he held onto something

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he looked with his many-looking manyone and not
anyone could see in this frock frolic weasel pop

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why not call it one star in the many-starred
children's song of the many-wronged mar

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he sees us here and we near the many-headed mister
who didn't know us on the many-treaded blister

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we walked on and he many-talked the talk
as people dropped the drop at his feet

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the foot of the beat of his one more he
of the flung-far manything he made this morning

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