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Orb, v. 2, issue 1, 1950

Inside back recto

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Time grows thin before it breaks, / Snapping like a screaming wire, / Thought congeals to frozen lakes / Where the worlds are poured like fire. Moons drop softly through the dusk. / Bombs of beauty soundlessly / Shattering the golden husk / That once housed eternity. Seedlings monstrous and sublime / Dropped from some sepulchered sky, / Push through cold cerebral slims / Glowing like a tiger's eye. And the soul too weary grown / Of the anxieties and the hours, / Hails the sceptre and the throne / Of the dark, unpatterned powers. Lilith Lorraine
 
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