shepard fairey



ras

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ras

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gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Monday, May 31, 2010

There Weren’t Enough Clouds In The Sky


to hide you there, kneeling at the throne
of God, the piker, the favoritist, the cheat;
he had your black shifting Irish heart, I
couldn’t hold it but for fleeting hours,
and hard-fought was its regaining for
another bare few; your roseate cheek,
musk-bruised lips, and bright eye
tell him, beloved, where you’ve been.


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