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broken heart poem

sleep, gray brother of death
at midnight
as a naked man i go
truely
to some the fat gods
though i am little as all little things
a very remarkable history this is
in the dark and peace of my final bed
glooms of the live-oaks
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
the sky
beneath my window in a city street
sing again the song you sung
it tells of good old times

 



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