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To the edge of the ledge with a pickle wedge

You take it to the breaking point
You make it sound so innocent

What is it in us that must
Hang out on a ledge

Craving our own destruction
At the hands of someone familiar

What is it that’s so unknown
Within ourselves

◄ On rejoining the cult

The Throb ►

Comments

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Robert C Gaulke

Tue 25th Jun 2019 00:49

Cheers, Martin

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Martin Elder

Mon 24th Jun 2019 16:56

I love the title alone, but the poem is also great, particularly the third stanza.
wonderful

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