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birthday poetry

there is no flock, however watched and tended
brother, i am fire
she said
thou unrelenting past
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
there is a city, builded by no hand
simplicity
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
when the wind works against us in the dark
glooms of the live-oaks
the ancient songs
out of me unworthy and unknown
when a deed is done for freedom
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens

 



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