Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.

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Poems -

You knot your
hair loosely behind
the crown of your
skull out of
habit - but it
cascades from a
spire in your
principled clouds to
cover the earth - to
tickle the
twitching curve of my
lip, and to
brush the
baying drum of my
inner ear, and to
fill the
faithless recollection of my
dream like a
summer haze.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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