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27 June 2018

Posted by Dr Moose in Life, Poetry.
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Hard, grey earth, soil bleached

In harsh, uncommon summer sunlight.

Irregular, both green blades, tufted

Grass, and scattered, human forms,

Flesh-flowers, part disrobed.

Murmurations, not of starlings, carry

Babel-like on gentle breeze, above

City traffic bass, horn-punctured, rumblings.

Through all, puffed pigeons strut, true

Monarchs of Soho Square.

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