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United States

I can't write a bio to save my life.

For a Poet

October 12, 2017


quiet now on the sinful lands
all dim and the sharp moon
splinters against the waters

old man walking alone 
across the stretch of sand
for the sake of it - dark, peppered beard
full of academic wisdom: 
he has a thousand books in his head
and a perfumed letter in his pocket
he's kissed a million times 
it still smells like Lancôme

and the postcard being sent from miles away
with the folded letter, sleeping inside
like a baby, hush, Papa's coming home now
from the lost years
the accumulation of all that's lost
all that will never be seen and is



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  • October 12, 2017 - 1:44pm (Now Viewing)

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