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The man in my skull
Who is this man,
this man in my skull,
that speaks and writes these words now?
Is he below?
No!
Is he above,
way up in the sky, a heavenly eye?
No!
Ah ha, he is here,
Between the brink of my neck and the sky.
A whole globe,
The whole world suspended
inside of my skull, peering through the slits of my soul.

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