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slam poetry

how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
the air is like a butterfly
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
three years ago today
winged shadows sweeping by
up from the south at break of day
i saw the first pear
it was a tall young oysterman
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
the lightning flashed, and lifted
i saw him once before
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow

 



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