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 Oct 2016 Ann Beaver
JL
With silence he is crowned
And eyes which spilt eternities
The future he thinks
To hold the leash
And the past he covets

Beside the fire
It is his desire
To think of it
There is no sleep

And when the sun
Slits the horizon
the wound gushing on pale sky  
He squints bloodshot eyes
And he is alone
There is no sleep
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