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I stand facing
the conquered armies of Carthage
the rotting nobility of Rome
the seesaw twinkling of cities
blooming and dying
all along the fertile crescent
slave ships rising slowly at anchor
amphorae of wine and olive oil
piled on sun bright docks
awaiting passage
beggar children asking for coins
feral packs of dogs
defending their territories
kings and drunkards
fat whores with crooked teeth
and all the fishes of the sea
undulating in their fishy homes
beneath the mirrored stars
sprinkling the sea
with the breath of Gods.

And that is only the first three shelves.

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