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Sarah
Poems
Aug 2016
Dust Storm.
During the
dust storm,
I lit the candles,
the tall, green pillar ones,
and then I poured the
beer.
It's already August's end
the thunder is clapping
its final applause
and the lightning is bolting
out the door, once
again.
It's the dust storm:
the funeral of a summer spent
with
amber ale and
sweat.
Written by
Sarah
F/Oregon
(F/Oregon)
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Teresa Alaska
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