AT LAST you are probably exclaiming in triumphant glee, at last a new Typewriter series poem! Your wish, my dear friends, is my command. Funny thing is, I have a few of these unread ones laying around here, so I figured it was time to get busy and post more of them. This one, is about beauty and how impossible it is to define it, to explain it, to illuminate it fully. This is my attempt, but as the poem says, what authority do I have? Who am I to speak of such things?
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