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suicide poetry

over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
in his guarded tent
desolate and lone
the light withdrawn
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
there was a strangeness on your lips
it was many and many a year ago
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
all quiet along the potomac
could we but know
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
the stars fell from heaven

 



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