Late Works - Poem by gershon hepner
Late works signal the catastrophe
of entropy colliding with experience,
and flaunt like an “all flesh is grass” trophy
the inconsistencies of incoherence.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye