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Crossroads

Rating: 4.3
A Sunday night, Nineteen Forty.
Holy - unholy congregate
at the four ways,
Just to foot the night,
to reel and play and flirt.

Midges feast on freckled arms
and heaving breasts,
Tasting, in warm blood,
Summer's ripening.
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COMMENTS
Jim Stanton 17 May 2005
good poem. (better for those with historical perspective)
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