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teen poems

god
i despise my friends more than you
i walk down the garden paths
uplifting, as the wind blew
stuff of the moon
happiness
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
in the cloud-gray mornings
over the river, on the hill
here lies a most beautiful lady
rocked in the cradle of the deep
it was a tall young oysterman
she said
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel

 



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