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Epitaph

Larry D. Fort

Darkness marches down

a derelict street.

By a brimming brook lie,

you and me.

 

Esoteric glances,

whispers divine.

Vagrants of the universe,

your hand in mine.

 

Sweet subtle sin,

our time is almost done.

The warriors have lost,

the tyrants have won.

 

Place my head on your chest,

the refugees are running;

we’re Anne in the attic

and the fascists are coming.


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