Saturday, January 29, 2011

The courtship of good words.

Bold classmen's tempests who have collapsed in
White grief on the ocean

And the staring distance that so like a dog
Eats without content or pause,

All things have your hungers known,

Never passing one another,
Yet the growling in their imperiled senses
Gathers you all dearly, with not if,
But just how, down, do we go now.

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