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Jan 2013
These days that come like
a circus burning to the ground
and leave with ashes
on a clown’s lips
when the hot air of sunset
smells like smoke
and then there is a stillness
that rivals death
with an evening that is
silent because the
crickets dare not mate.
Frank Cotolo
Written by
Frank Cotolo  United States
(United States)   
387
 
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