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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jul 2014
The order of things.
Melting in the hot air and
felt up there by
buzzards on the wing,
circling in bright skies,with
circles under dark eyes.
dropping like stones to
pick at the bones
melting in the hot air.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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