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August 7, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
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Christchurch

Here in sunset city
The streetlamps flicker on
In sickly saffron grid-lines, marching
Out across the plains,
While headlamps pulse
Down darkening streets
In liquid floods of light.

In sunset city,
Cicadas clatter like
Loose screws
In empty lots, where
Weeds, persistent as grief,
Push between the cracks
In memory.

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