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Keith Grubb
Poems
Nov 2016
Gaoithe
carbon dust and asphalt
cruel sun and trash
acid breeze is smoky
crumpled bits of cash
–
cardboard in his fingers
black from vanished soap
he thinks of different times
and evil torment hope
–
the linen was so soft
she was flowers in the air
on damp concrete he dreams
of wind in her hair
Written by
Keith Grubb
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