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Back to homepageWalter Benjamin. A poem by Séamas Carraher
That time too, Walter, has left, like a painting or a book that hangs, birdlike, from your mouth, wide-open in surprise: your death mask’s endless labouring
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That time too, Walter, has left, like a painting or a book that hangs, birdlike, from your mouth, wide-open in surprise: your death mask’s endless labouring
Read More