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katamari - do yr best
thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
thou foster-child of Hunger and slow Time,
urban epicurian, who canst thus express
a sugary tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
what grain-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
of deities or mortals, or of both,
in Gowanus, Midtown, or the Bowery?
what men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
what mad pursuit? what struggle to escape?
what bars and biscuits? what wild ecstasy?
