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Listening To The Messenger
Wakeup gal, you ain't dreaming
listening to the messenger
in the twilight's cold pewter grey sky
come sundown with the Ouija
broomstick-borne and woeful life led
with a filigree of a lace haunting hag
creeping through the veil
conjuring up a revival of ghosts
of naked green eyes
death's going to greet you
on a distant shore
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