T w o B l e y s |
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| C l o s e r | |
I woke
to feathers on the clock maybe the truth wasn’t all right I thought you were one of the icicles |
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| F l o a t e r | |
| I didn’t budge I was
off my rocker struck by an apple thrown from the gloom my walking stick was a limousine in the living room a locksmith filled my pockets and what with the rain the radiator was a taxi a needle in a pine tree the ghost I’d given up waved |
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