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thomas gabriel
Poems
Mar 2012
March 3.
A March dusk blotted stale
bodies; jet-black water
ran thick with puerile inks
and imparted abandon.
Head shrouded in
cobalt mist, night idled
by a black pane that
rang dull and flat.
Backtracking rooks caught
the vacant eye: threading
a monarchical purple cloak
to hoard the transient days.
Goodness, i need to be more creative with these titles!
Written by
thomas gabriel
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