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Jan 2011
Wise words, wondrous and wicked
slicing up meaning.
Although we’re not at rest or ease
slightly drifting toward eternal slumber;
that which comes to claim us at a days end.

The autumnal tears of trees
and the ocean sways with a spit.
The gleaming pitch-dark,
my words fall short
at midnight in Summer.
Topher Green
Written by
Topher Green
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