Where are the weapons? 
I have only those of my reason 
and in my violence there is no place
for even the trace of an act that is not 
intellectual. Is it laughable 
if, suggested by my dream on this 
gray morning, which the dead can see
and other dead too will see but for us 
is just another morning,
I scream words of struggle?
Who knows what will become of me 
at noon, but the old poet is "ab joy"
[..]
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