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Posted by on Sep 3, 2017 in Poetry | 1 comment

Apocalypse Poem



Don’t ask about
The Martians. I don’t
Know, just stories
About Ocba,
A man in space
Alive and inert
Drifting like a seed
Waiting to land
In the sterile soil—
That TV movie
With puppets, clowns,
Old men in gowns,
Entire towns aglow
Sun smothered, the dead
Winds blow open
Windows and weep fire

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