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Fresh

A siren twitched
in the flowers,
the spring died
    on a chilled
June day.
It surprised the park,
injected a hint of morgue
into the morning.
The stillness of birds
folded in the wind,
there were leggy
insect clusters.
The air was shiny
as a glass full  
of mercury
and I wasn’t
drunk anymore
Written by toetag
Published
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