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. . . . . Before the astronomer's table a circle with a demon inside demons with wings of a bat (Before the astronomer's table) overhead like an armada of ships . . . . . Time of the weed, time of bramble along the bank of a canal muddy with old newspaper close-held surface to write on to dance as with desire black letters where roads meet . . . . . Tonight in the city, only the chains make soft noises like bells only the dogs are awake the fences lean over to scrape their elbows on stone and broken glass