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PK Wakefield
Poems
Sep 2014
Untitled
what hot,
estimable lances
of adamantine night
pass drowsily
of exact turpitude
before my hands drunk
in comely seas
of neck clean
and wholly depraved
grasping
(the hanging of a boy wish
between sallow columns
of chaste eve;
a caricature emerges:
that self of sometimes dreaming
illeasy
nymphness. )
Written by
PK Wakefield
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