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85.
He searched in the lane
he overturned every
garden chair and stereotype
he pursued wishes with unbated breath
crossed the Xanadu of elemental flesh
the rush of lust not even able
to obscure the pedantry of the quest
no word in his tongue for Traumdeutung
amid her laughter, wasps on the peaches
digging deeper, better there than her bruised
flesh — the cauchemar of the dark wood.