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Fallen Garden

The flowers I coaxed into brightness have entered the season of rain and death, some shaped like mindless doodles and some like the silver spires of science-fiction cities, some like warrior angels in heavy gold breastplates and some like metal spoons bent by telekinesis, some like broken traffic lights and some like the chewed stub of a pencil, some like failed revolutions and mass beheadings and some like a cold voice that asks for me by name.



H o w i e   G o o d

Universal Themes
in Literature

prose poems

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