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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Sunday, October 31, 2004


the word penumbra surrounds this poem
of ink on paper during the hunter’s moon
as it is being eclipsed
all over the world stories are told
so the frog can bring it back
to health or we sing
of lunatics and birthdays
or hang the ends of thoughts
out like the brick joke
where we make toasts
to the company
and the next morning is irrelevant
now is the right time
to make a wish


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