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Dec 2014
Here I hear
Those foul voices
in the air.
Spitting putrid
Toxic to the ear
Nearly as much
as the mind.

Purification expensed
for the sake of inner chaos.

There's a storm I face
Night upon night
When the vacant spots
must be filled.

Desire yields growth
for these cavernous seeds
Roots sinking
every passing moment
Left to waste.
Kenneth Everett Rathburn
396
 
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