Further on, you begin to grasp, the will behind the deed,/the vanished hocus pocus./ Alone in your row house, /once more, you realize,/ have a laugh at terrible sounds/;feel lesser emotions,/lifelike but fantastic,/somehow fiction, somehow makeshift. /It’s a rock and a hard place/to lose your enemies,/with the coldest precision,/signed by an imprint/of a lily and a star. The error in judgement/made in Woodlawn Cemetery/ provides your graveside flowers.
Noiseless Drama
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Poetry in Motion 