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Tuesday, March 2, 2010


Painless skin on a pale face
Walking to the flats
Where nothing lay and nothing shall
Drawn to the gloom
And spit from the womb
Of the hearty earth
Which had no space
Tears of fire
Rolling down his body
As he wept for some shoulder
Thorns surround and feet bleed
For to the dead he walked on well
Collapsing but a few feet away
He moaned a painful moan
Only to be swallowed by the land
From which he had grown.

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