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funny poetry

let us plant
from our hidden places
he came and took me by the hand
now that i have cooled to you
tell me not
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
over the river, on the hill
desolate and lone
sun and wind and beat of sea
skies they were ashen and sober
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
beneath my window in a city street

 



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