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At The Grave Of St Valentine

there's a point on the map when

doubts and desapir veer to meet

and idly parade nowhere down a

lonely slum of a one-way street

 

no compass charts this latitude

where time gross reality bends

for its a quarter of lifeless loss

the geography where love ends

 

I've drifted here so many times

its memories my endless bane

before me for I sense a reprise

I am sure...

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