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With call and fanfare across middle farm,
clad in armor of shiny thick wool,
I pursue future presidents, ride
after all the hounds of love,
wish my cousins were not so aloof,
would have taught me to openly breathe
in liquid words under the apologist's drainplate.
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Steven Schmidt
who blogs at:
persistentfool.blogspot.com space
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Filed under: Art, Recommended Poetry Tagged: | steven schmidt
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