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The Happy March

Recollections of you
rotted flesh flashed
smirked smoke
no mirrors amplify
pyre rise high
a match
ready to strike
trumpets gallantly play
naked through the street
live in guttural
flee the walking man
humbled by
a single flame
ash spread
acrid burn
primed for war paint
blackened walls
waged a slave
plagued inert.

© 2017 Robert McKinlay

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