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prose poetry

eighty years have passed, and more
let me move slowly through the street
now that i have cooled to you
renew the vision of delight
in september
to be able to see every side of every question
i can not tell you now
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
there is no escape by the river
now while my lips are living
lady, your heart has turned to dust
with the sunset
why then, must we see?
i am old and blind

 



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