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teen poems

my mother taught me that every night
give me hunger
from floor to ceiling
along a river-side
be not false
to come so soon to this imagined dark
this ancient silver bowl of mine
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
skies they were ashen and sober
why are the things that have no death
in their ragged regimentals
passing through huddled and ugly walls
i love my life, but not too well

 



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