With laughter of the purest linen
Wrap
the burns of living words
Charred stumps
of grammar all
The smoking acres of desolated syntax
The smoking acres of desolated syntax
See
bourgeois fire march and sing
The
Internationale
See the flags of rebellion
Heh-heh-heh
O
finally the river meets
The
moon unfailingly at the cold
Infinite
margins of poetry
How
the song unfolds quite likely similes
Like tiny smiles pouring
from a rainspout
Distant
disaster held once more at bay by such
Small
gestures of natural affinity
Somewhere
near there waits
Somewhere
always waits near there
Along
comes a centaur to wait there too
It’s
beautiful to have chosen
Ain’t
it?
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