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poems

city that is not a city
why then, must we see?
we were not many
listen
sleep, gray brother of death
in the dark and peace of my final bed
you are beautiful and faded
i love my life, but not too well
in halls of sleep you wandered by
skies they were ashen and sober
in their ragged regimentals
my son is dead and i am going blind
for truth, for love
noises that strive to tear

 



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