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Vomitous Rue

   So the epilogue is late
if ever it comes

We ache from the bone outward
but never our marrow
never our sacred

We press to the unattainable gray
black against white.

White-
stark-
naked among gloom

The hedge...
cutting us in form
we despise our lines

And that thriving we chase
that easy...silky gray...

A blighted dream
a never-birthed craving    


***
An older poem of mine I'm finally submitting here. From 2015.
Written by AtoMikbomb
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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