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His Second Decade
An artisan of surreal noises
Made of groans and chortles
Making words that sat like lead
pounce like a spear of chains
Pulling the vaults to break
And let loose a paunch soul
With a flagrant gaunt face
To become the visage
Of his subtly dubbed art.
While it's easy to toss
White roses on a grave
It is his eloquent etude
To exhume its blossoming.
Welcome to your second decade,
Undoubtedly your golden age,
Now flourish in your parade.
poem
by
Norman Santos
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