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Poetry by Glendale Morris


There's a simple

thrill of eloquence

in the way she sets

me up.

No more worries.

No more cares.

Her Kingdoms severed.

A lock of hair.

To the gallows, so

I go. To never waiver,

and never slow.

Mercy shows no quarter

once upon the cleaving stone.

They say my blood is passion.

So let the river know.

Glendale Morris