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The Scarecrow From where he sits concrete walls Somehow insinuate question marks Arrogant skin-quakes He is immobilised like a sunflower Sucking every photon that hits him With the greed of blackness The warmth peels off the skin of winter Curling the parched corners where His rose lips meet his face He is mad with the life of it all The scent cracks whips in his head He is summer-crazy again © David Incoll 2001 |
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Copyright by David Incoll 2001 |