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suicide poetry

i am old and blind
never in all my life
over the river they beckon to me
with the sunset
simplicity
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
what spiteful chance steals unawares
beautiful
i had a dream and i awoke with it
for these white arms about my neck
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
see, from this counterfeit of him
could we but know
have you heard

 



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