Anvil Isle (2006)

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paranoia friendship lends
sickly smelling of pretend
cyanide hath treasure too
sorry stride but always true
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welcome to the comrade lair
here we sing and life is fair
we have come here for the sight
of pidgins there, free from flight
.
fainting youth of bosom breathes but barely
and her pearl shirtsleeves rolled up
to bunch a sailor’s dreams yet idly
as he wanders still he lacks th’ obtuse and gifted thrill
of learned knack, so faint and shrill shown not
within the strong sinew of paint that bound
the edge of known, the solid weight has flown
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Copyright L.M. 2006.  (Written May 7th, 2006.).
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