We're all dreamers; we don't know who we are.
Some machine made us; machine of the world, the constricting family.
Then back to the world, polished by soft whips.
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Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant? Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us; it is your turn to address it, to go back asking what am I for? What am I for? Cells in a great darkness. tony
Great verses dear friend Louise Gluck.