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dark poetry

i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
glass-blower of time
calm as that second summer
be not false
with the meek, brown eyes
since i have felt the sense of death
good woman
as a naked man i go
pushing out, struggling vainly
i love the old melodious lays
grieve not for the invisible
never in all my life
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon

 



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