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thanksgiving poetry

with the meek, brown eyes
i saw the first pear
out of me unworthy and unknown
do the boys and girls still go
when i was broke in london
the swan existing
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
dark-eyed
lady, your heart has turned to dust
rocked in the cradle of the deep
skies they were ashen and sober
in the cloud-gray mornings
i expect you

 



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