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histories pressed on the walls
the thin face now
rushing through the traces
And my muses Like Valkries
ride....the horse tired

the cracking brace

The mill torn down
full of its nightlong noise
the rippling twenties
roof...its lights..
its beepers of the
back up loaders

and the snow sifting
down through the
cherry tree
the water bed cupping
Bryan Ferry soothing
us in our drink
our depths
the night of dreams
rising up
like a slow motion
vivid nightmare

and we are
still lost

found and find

like a garden still
the last garland
for the window
or the grave

and sorrow
we give a finger
to tomorrow!!

Editing stage: 


I was experiencing my weekly poetic surge, and came on the site to read THIS! I think it was quite appropriate that I was in this strange specific mindset that I cannot explain. But reading this was wild and perfect , and I ain't gonna say anything about it because you hit the mark my friend. And that ending, HA!

succintly into dreams..into the day with rains or sunshine.....Dig in...walk tall...walk forward....but be your own...and the backup will follow you...Leaders....

author comment

it was beautiful and constructive.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

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