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Aeon
She walks a ghost grey amidst
the jigsaw maze of halls,
time scuffed alley
corridors
always outside
the doors
of the rooms where moulder
rank on rank
The ill given
and the too-well
understood
A sensuous slip
a silhouette
through dense moor fog
but for
trailing shock of hair
like purple flame
She walks a ghost grey amidst
the jigsaw maze of halls
waiting for the ones
who remember their purpose
the kings
from the back row
The stand-alones
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