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cowboy poetry

i am the wind that wavers
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
what do i owe to you
i loathed you
i cannot always feel his greatness
were it not for that singular smell
the ships are lying in the bay
there was a strangeness on your lips
grieve not for the invisible
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
a few more windy days
see, from this counterfeit of him
your body's motion is like music

 



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