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Mulberry St.
Whisper and flakes
Of hair in your face
Your eyes are like mine
They take me by surprise
The thundering noise
Of clouds that are poised
To meet the ground
In heavy hounds
Of rain falling from the gray
And your coat dragging like a train
Through the mud of the walks
And the grass of the park
The lights already burning out
Trying to pass through and shout
With their yellow dim bulbs
Through the fog of it all
Mist sticks to your cheeks
In beads of translucent bleak
And that damn hair is still on your face
The thunder is gone
The gray has disappeared
The lights are turned off
There’s no more fog here
The suns coming up
As we walk on by the mud of the walks
The grass of the parks
Your coat still dragging slower than before
The mist is dry
And we pass on by
Mulberry St. where the moon will rise
Later at night
When the freaks arrive
Is where we’ll be
With your hair in your face
And your eyes that look like mine
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