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prose poetry

over the river they beckon to me
there are three ways in which men take
darkest, strangest mystery
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
good woman
you are clear
there was a strangeness on your lips
up from the south at break of day
this is the arsenal
see i give myself to you
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
i love to steal awhile away
death's nobility again

 



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