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sad poem

candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
often is it not so?
with the sunset
just as my fingers on these keys
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
who is the runner in the skies
pushing out, struggling vainly
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
a pen of steel
she said

 



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