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The Weight Of Pale

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Beneath the weight of pale
crying a river of breathless stones
where the gorse has stung the sky
the hawthorns bloom…
told that the moon was hungry
its ribs were bare, but stiil
the marrow there
rotting sweet beneath the snow
older than the bones
with the hollow sounds
that grip the earth like hands
never letting go
beneath the weight of pale

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