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William Logan

BPR 51 | 2024

Color by Kodachrome

Those streaks of sky
almost wiped clean
spread like pages of a history

book torn out one by one.
Revolution begins in a grain
of sand, Blake almost said.

Even politics lives in gardens
reeking of honeysuckle
and sewers, roses preening

in their death throes.
On the sea rocks, mussels boiled
in their shells. We never

thought hell would rise
so near, riding the high tide,
a monster of the deep.