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Golden Oldies

The sky is a lit jukebox In a roadside dive Venus in a blonde wig Snapping her fingers And calling out requests To some DJ on high While stars look mesmerised Watching the wax spin.

Early Light

It loves empty churches At the crack of dawn. The darkness lifting Like a curtain in a puppet show. The eyes of our Lord Staring down from the cross As if seeing his bloody feet For the very first time.

7 The Poetry Review

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