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free love poetry

the arches of the red bridge
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
gone are the three, those sisters rare
for truth, for love
which i wish to remark
sleep, gray brother of death
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
pushing out, struggling vainly
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
love me at last, or if you will not

 



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