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A Crashed Morning

(i)

What morning has crashed
with the clap trap
of knocks at the door, dawn
still wearing a dark woolen pullover?

A thunderclap drags
a rumble to the sea's spiraling belly
until a wave rises

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Thursday, June 4, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: late
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7/25/2021 2:37:58 PM # 1.0.0.663