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slam poetry

do you remember
i make my shroud, but no one knows
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
tripping up, falling down
babylon-where i go dreaming
be in me as the eternal moods
long ago, in the young moonlight
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
when i returned at sunset
there are gains for all our losses
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
we break the glass whose sacred wine
glass-blower of time

 



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