A POEM
Ice in the spirit
Is but frozen tears
And bitterness
Is expectation killed.
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- Karl Keating
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Around our March balcony tonight Fog closes its slight hand — illusive blue —
“Alas, I cannot find my God,” Man said
Blind with seeking, all but garroted
By…
My God, I’m grieved to say it is not true:
Not true I desire naught…
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