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Connor
Poems
May 2016
a classic kind of name
and after a
death nightmare like that
I can't help but think of Corso's gravestone
and how much the clouds really do
mean to me
O how important
tattoos of ailed hands become.
appreciating
the flowers of May
as trees become aware
of the cold every year,
me, teary eyed on waking
and realizing
what people close to him must be going through now.
Written by
Connor
27/M/Montreal
(27/M/Montreal)
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