The hands spun backward, then forward, then backward again.
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Benjamin Blake offers up an extremely personal collection of poetry for Secret History Books . Heartbreak and loss, cigarettes smoked and... -
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Walking the rows Of aged and sunken stone I came across a large patchwork feral cat Laying at its feet Was the still, small b... -
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An uncharacteristically stormy summer night Crawled in without warning Rattling the window frames And wrenching leaves from wind-whip...
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