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Feb 2014
horns sound, flees the sun
men tire, day’s undone;
blue is wrung to grey,
rendered with a gasp,
and tar night, foul
as a steel pike, or
frau Troost’s onyx soul,
settles on the world
like a cyclone blanket
in a concrete shower.
Written by
C Ann Brennan  W. Mass.
(W. Mass.)   
1.6k
 
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