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Aug 2013
Fire on water,
The hearts smoke
And low rain of her eyes,
What wry lashing they gave,
The currency of night's tender,
My fare to the wandering lands
And makeshift rounds of munitions
Heat, mushroom, slice and plosive gaze.
Seán Mac Falls
Written by
Seán Mac Falls  Éire
(Éire)   
  780
     ---, CA Guilfoyle, Odi, ---, Emma S and 6 others
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