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Great Granite City
We don't exactly have God. We just sit and try to stay awake.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Pleiades and Smoke
Rake the dead leaves, stack the brushwood.
At the early dusk, set fire to summer's remains.
Burn the rot, throw the last apples
into the embers. As stars break
through the descending mist, drink
the flighty heat, imagine winter's possibilities.
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