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Andrew J. Thomas

Andrew J. Thomas

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Wind

Wind

blue buttered biscuits
floating fluttering flittering
rustled red leaves dance
branches creak back a crack
billowing bellows above the bedroc

The Myth We Lent to God

The Myth We Lent to God

In pieces now, slowly dissected, a
I drive across the bay from east t
At night, a silhouette of what onc
that grey metal testament of man’s
stretching from crane to crane.

Well Read

Well Read

You are my once-a-year read,
spine long broken and wrinkle soft
I want you even after your corners
and brittle to break at the fold-o
Yes, I’ve folded you again and ag

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