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her veil is the breeze

disappear sun.
hide in barrels.
distort in straits of my eye
the local is earth trying to live
no patter on the tiles,
they took a flight to the fog.
in the breeze
is that secret ocean
a weary con in a corner
of the past.
"if" is the last sign
to deceive me
I bought into the
cuss of creation
it's all bones
floundering like catch
in an instant we are alone
no price for occasion
the pack is over the end of the sky.

24 Jun 07

(define the words in this poem)
(22 more poems by this author)

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