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r a v e n
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W I L L I A M M . G O T T L I E B
raunch to reactionary
Rows of raw words
raven your eyes, even
now in your sore sight seek for your
plunder, their plunge
taking you
away
in a razzle of black
chains to a page’s rayed dungeon
where no one’s
letters can reach you but this raving’s
ravishment’s, ending
raveled loudly, suddenly, in a mating
raven’s
call,
musical
in the black style
of raunch –
a fine line in love’s ravine, a poet alive
and croaking.
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