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Outside
clouds like static
fill the automatic sky
Inside
a television sun
Dolby winds stammer in surround
My private panoptic e`den
wherein
history makes me a man
software makes me a Poet
since the Author died
Pale fire in Xanadu
as the electric sign sighs,
sounds of the funeral pyre text,
and reveals itself like
a phosphene seraphim
This fearful angel guards me
in my e`den prison sphere
No matter
where still I wander
at the centre
I stay
the circumference
of my mediated garden nowhere
to be found
as I tread the paths of paradox
Inside
a pamlimpsest sun
Outside
still static clouds
blur the illuminated sky
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