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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