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Into The Country Of The Gadarenes

Rating: 2.0

Arthritic fingers of the olive trees
Accuse the sun of ancient injuries.

The shallows harden to an ochre crust
While bony cattle huddle in the dust.

The wretched one who tears his flesh resumes
His bellowing from somewhere in the tombs.

The sky assumes a tyrant's glare. Despite

Our lust for rain, we fear the eerie night.
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7/20/2021 12:38:45 PM # 1.0.0.663