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The Dogs Pointed Toward Eternal Silences

When rain comes,

old smiles flatter dogs,

I’m dying

below gray

rock, and morgues speak of silent

dances, my last squeels

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This entry was posted on April 3, 2017, 7:59 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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