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sad poem

as i lie roofed in, screened in
this is the arsenal
noises that strive to tear
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
made up of loveliness alone
tell me less or tell me more
from our hidden places
good woman
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
he came and took me by the hand
now while my lips are living
i stood
have you heard

 



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