Sam Hickford Poems

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1.
Scatter, Relent, Turn To The Muses,

The nymphs do not absolve. They only follow
water in blind impulse. So
an oak stipple hosts no sinless clamber, til
the festering of youth is gone away
...

2.
D Major

I love these little foretastes of our apocalypse
like a snow-laced afternoon in January
watching trains agreeably fall cancelled:
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