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Tell this day is all we have...
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You didn't ask why I love you / nor did the flowers weep / pools of envy / for what they might have been. / And that's it, isn't it? / Not wanting to be another, / with another, / somewhere over the next / r
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Take me through the blind night, leaving all behind.
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Poems serve many Princes, a meal of words refined;
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The war made worse the decline well worn across those tested tearless eyes.
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a stair descends
through fire and soot
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We see you now, not as you were,
but wings aloft, a higher perch.
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Was she running when the horror took her?
Did the stopped watch set the time?
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From the distance of the far palisades
the village shimmers and shines
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they walk and rise, a phantom column,
filling the off ramp.
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An entire city carried to its resting place
by a hot-stepping brass band of ghosts
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I enter you feel the length of me in your heat instantly we find our rhythm and ride.
we are dancing a rip tide of want
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You can never understand, he said,
the Wars I've imagined for myself,
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The tree was any tree.
From her mouth, metaphors of rage.
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may we rise
against our failures
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We sat by the ebbing cinders,
exaggerating our conquests
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It was in my head,
a voiceless meandering.
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We leave this world
convinced we are Flesh
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I would strangle
what camera's have done
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He was one day, simply gone.
Vanished, as if abducted by invisible wings.
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it cannot remain buried, nor set aside
like so much we could not carry
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into those blue walled bunk bed rooms the rotting catch waste coiled
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From tales of dark kitchens
you fashion fables;
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these are things, my sweet,
best not spoken of.
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I saw the children tonight
eating a hillbilly's beard
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When we were naked,
back before we had words for it,
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We join hands at the sink hole
exchanging memories of fire.
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If not for the keys to one life
why would we have come
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I wanted my cup filled
with knowing.
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Have they run off naked
into rain soaked streets,
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A break from tradition's, our favorite rendition.
We'd rather jump to conclusions than draw them.
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How quick the crisp grasp of that summer fades,
like the slow advance of doubt,
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