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richcmather

Penelope

By Richard Mather


Penelope weaves a boat of sweet songs

while beneath her bibulous boozers

scratch beer, play dice.


“Declare his bones and suck mine,”

they joke (not joking at all).


Time turns to dreams and honey-thick

shadows hush the spot where black snow

falls in streams of light


upon the head of the stranger

standing in the archway.

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