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When I was water the thumping world was black.
Morning came like a white knife through the window.
I was hungry in a black room, an orange meteor moments from my teeth.
The black ocean sang white shells and glittering fisheyes.
Old coffee in my cup smoothed into a black motor speedway.
I was the rudderless pilot in the snake's black pupil.
I manhandled blackness and made a likeness which looked nothing                        
            like me to anyone but myself.
I wanted black so blue in raven fur under the snow.
Was there a kind city to erect my ears with a cafeteria where I
could smoke a cigarette and put eye funk in the sugar bowl?
I didn't need black, but the sliding light in a hall with a
door that opens twice.
I never look a black horse in the mouth.