in my heartless breast and burning brain
the vague contour had filled out:
It is not dream of mine.
It slept like a dead one.
There was no one and little to be understood,
“She listened in silence,
by the way.” It’s in blank verse, not free verse
I vanish and am seen no more.
I can not live with you
here in the States, they would have been trash.
February 9
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