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Song 3

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This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water as sweet as the Seth Thomas in the old kitchen my father stood ín his drawers to wink (always he f orgot the 30th day,' as I don't want to remember the rent a house these days so much somebody else's, especially, Congoleum's Or the plumbing, that it doesn't work, this I like, have even used paper clips as well as string to hold the ball up And flush it with my hand But that the car doesn't, that no moving thing moves without that song I'd void my ear of, the musickracket of all ownership . . . Holes in my shoes, that's all right, my fly gaping, me out at the elbow, the blessing that difficulties are once more "In the midst of plenty, walk as close to bare In the face of sweetness, piss i In the time of goodness, go side, go smashing, beat them, go as (as near as you can tear In the land of plenty, have nothing to do with it take the way of the lowest, including your legs, go contrary, go sing