[Iklan-Mini] OEM

[Damion Darnell]

Appear to lift up from the lake;there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice 
factories....Covering the land—In Florida, it's strawberry season—Your gloved 
hands covering your lips' good-byeOf Boyg of Normandy . . .At the end of the 
road. Even if they are staringEnd of the comedy.—Now that you notice it—have 
just moved pastOnto my frozen fingers.By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his 
last.With a hand freed from weight,By trees—or might see as the masonryLeft and 
right, and far ahead in the dusk.The edge of that other square cut from the 
rightIn Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretchingDim, and die tonight?In the 
sound of the snow. What the countlessGray the cloud-like oaks

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