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by Ray Corvi & though the leaves are green, Every one of them is dying. The sacrifice of volition & the apotheosis Of letting go— Is this a form of escapism: Loud music, several empty bottles of pills, and the phantom Sound of someone urgently pounding on the door? War will break out shortly. War has already broken out. The dead are piling up in ditches. Nobody can explain why There persists the smell of honeysuckle. Copyright 2023. All rights reserved.
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