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contemporary poetry

often is it not so?
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
a mist was driving down
i cannot always feel his greatness
rising moon has hid the stars
one with you
what spiteful chance steals unawares
god
i despise my friends more than you
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
i can not tell you now
do the boys and girls still go
let us express our baser passions

 



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