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May 2013
a light subsides on a waxed wick,
all blackhearted and brightly white-tipped

snuffed out under a bronze bell,
the wisps of smoke that remain,

blooms

under the duress of deprivation,
and escapes when released from the bell,

with a heavier scent and beauty
than that of the fairest rose.
glass can
Written by
glass can  San Francisco
(San Francisco)   
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