Inspired by Walt Whitman
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A song of myself
Sung in a voice long shelved among full stock
Yes now covered in dust, surely finer than your’s
Whitman you bastard, WHERE IS THE HEART?
To hell with the spiders and to hell with the arts!
My filament is gone and I have forgotten my part.
I too, hear America singing
Many millions of songs.
I hear the song of my teachers
All they say is listen.
