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On the giant’s hill, in the child’s eye,
the old house stands hermaphrodite,
the mother-father rolled in light.
In brazen day, that Zion’s done:
a trumpet cry to still the sun.

Beware, my love, beware, beware,
the sky’s on fire and the air
is singed along its western rim.
Desire for day at dusk grows dim.

In the city’s prism, in the schism light,
the rain bends down the neon night.
Unseen, sequestered daughters cry
and in his bed a young man mourns
the Babylon of traffic horns.

Cold heart beneath the city street,
the subway lines, the sewers’ heat,
Cold heart that hates a lovers’ twine,
why break my lover’s heart from mine?

In the frozen zero, in the center night,
a cold heart plots against the light
and schemes to hide all range of sky.
The cities of the plain will change
my love to salt, her love to strange.

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