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owen goode
Poems
Sep 2015
babble - i
an icelandic papaver;
the jeweller's heart.
a froth of veins;
the body part.
a diamond hangs
like poplar fruit.
dew drop death;
the bitter root.
a tightened breath:
the morbid frost.
here they are
left to rot.
past winters freezing clutch:
sear the stem,
yet cold to the touch.
one of my first works - a rambling of images and words that came to me in a day dream
#free
#verse
Written by
owen goode
u.k.
(u.k.)
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