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Published: 2015-05-02 05:38:35 +0000 UTC; Views: 662; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 0
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So the epilogue is late
if ever it comes
We ache from the bone outward
but never our marrow
never our sacred
We press to the unattainable gray
black against white.
White-
stark-
naked among gloom
The hedge...
cutting us in form
we despise our lines
And that thriving we chase
that easy...silky gray...
A blighted dream
a never-birthed craving


