Out, out brief candle, as we hang upon the cheek of night, the full moon...and immortality
tempts us like a rich jewel in Shakespeare's ear,
Picasso wields his insane brush nervously,
artists everywhere wolfing down their own saliva,
walking shadows bent with prophetic blessings,
over-spending themselves on foot,
death be not proud, you cannot win their souls,
the full moon courts them as they
walk the lives of their children.
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