wordsout
<
Poems I'd like to have written >
Let
it go
by William
Empson
It
is this deep
blankness is the real thing strange.
The more things happen to
you the more you can't
tell or remember even what they were.
The
contradictions cover such a range.
The talk would talk and go
so far aslant.
You don't want madhouse and the whole thing there.
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