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To Mourn the Dusk
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Measure of rain,
echoing through his
protected slumber.
Authenticity locked beneath
his belly, amidst swarming
bullets of base destruction.
Rage grinding, titling his
equilibrium, shrinking
an ivory sun.
People play with him, give response
to his repeating voice, won’t abort
his fatal ebb and flow.
He sits with arrows under his seat,
trusts nothing but the iron isolation
of betrayal.
Will not speak to children or enjoy
a paint-by-number. Loves only
chewed wounds, impossible needs,
the drowned swimmer
of
his mind.
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Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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Published in “Our Poetry Archive” June 2018
https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2018/06/allison-grayhurst.html
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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