It is dark
All the art
That places
The runners up
Has gone
To rest
Its take
Any conference
Opens to the floor
Strewn with
Correspondence
Letters barely dead
Though nothing
Is charged
Neither debts
Are waived
What day costs to break
Must milk the night
The street
Isn’t rushed
Laying wait
For the trees
Descending
To cat around
October- like
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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