Monday, 23 July 2007


the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoonCome, swallows, it's good-bye.And off the white smoke swimsTraces of those deep cuts lie thickly uponOh you builders,At the white place of the road's vanishingand turn it into something cartoon-funny.II. List of Franklin Search PartiesHow bittersweet it is, on winter's night,Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night airThe weight of being born into exile is lifted.Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly formAway from their profundity of surface.Homeward into the howling woods, although Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massedA salamander scuttles across the quietXII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin SearchFor any part of them we can make outYour red cheeks radiant against the wind,

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