Phosphorescent Slutgarden
J
James McLain
0
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Inside or out of the garden
along the shore, evening
slowly walks youth it's turtle
up and down goes life
when in to deep the tunnel
floating on water
hollow log once the limb
from that tree
and no one looks
as you bend
and buckle at the knees
it is the salt
when you are kissed
by his ghost, 'come in sea.
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