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Mar 2012
A clock’s hands pain then cease.
Dawn stands timeless on a horizon
Of soot black trees that drink in the

Last darkness, greens and whites
Prevail. Mute chalk hills entice a
Stirring mind that hungers to leave

These walls: walk with the fog as
It hangs low over a barley field,
Retreating tide, black among grey
                                            then noise.
thomas gabriel
Written by
thomas gabriel
   Sister Sinister, ---, --- and Ben
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