Poets curve each poems stitch
Subway nerves and silent tricks
Guard you like a whisper
Release you to the wolves
Silently we rust beneath
The shade, slope, and bend
These attics of origin
From under here
I can hear the snow falling
Words trim like bayonets
We gravitate to our own intent
The soft mumble loud
The soft mumble loud
From under here
I can hear the snow falling
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