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Patrick White
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Page 4
Patrick White
I Can See The Love And The Loss In Your Green, Green Eyes Again
I Don’T Squander My Time Seeking Out Design Flaws In Chaos
Yes, To Give It All, To Ennoble The Calling
Everything, Dactylic, A Moist Pause
Decay Into Madness
Great Pan Is Dead
Given We Have More Faults In Common Than Virtues
The Dark God Flow Of Our Circuitous Blossomings
The Unreformed Life Of A Poet Thick With Scar Tissue
You Have To See With Your Heart Into The Nature Of Life
So Far From Home For So Long
I See My Childhood In A Broken Mirror
Grey Day After Grey Day
Sitting At An Open Window In The Studio
If I Were To Cry Now At This Age
The Silence Beguiling
Reminding Myself To Keep It Clear, Keep It Bright As Starmud
Deep Enhancement. Dark Wound
Sweet September Fields Sweep Me Away
Soft Liberation
Dreaming Strange
Warm September Morning
Lucid Blue Hour Of Leaves On The River
Like A Child That’s Burnt Its Hand
Took It To Extremes
Greed. Politics. Corruption Beyond Surrealistic Conception
Relatively Painless Day
The Beautiful Artifice Destroyed
I Look For A Star Through The Window
Everything Shines Even A Wet Cigarette Butt On The Sidewalk
Like The Headstone Of The Mountain Down Into The Grave Of The Valley
The Green Berry Red And Rotten
Too Much To Say Good-Bye To Though I Had
Moonrise Among The Crumpled Swans Of The Bed Sheets
Even Though It’s Only The Canada Geese
O What A Delight In Life It Is
Wistful Melancholy, Unfocused Hell
The Mind Reflected In The Silence Of Its Own Light
Surrealistic Harmonies Of Love
Lost In The Gutter
There Are Memories Seared Into My Soul
Solitude, My Friend, Let’s Get Out Of Here
Open Window On A Summer Night
A Scaffolding To Climb Up On And Paint The Worlds
Yesterday’s Philosophies Are The Juntas Of Today
Echoes Of Faces, Deported Watercolours Of Sound
Poor Little Ocean That’s Only Got One Wave
You Found Me Wanting And You Left
In A Drastic Town Where The Waterwheels Had Stopped
Sitting In The Dark Waiting For A Life
Homogenous Grey With Violet Towers Of Delphiniums
Even In The Dirt, The Frangible Shining
Like A Star When You Write
This Strange Sadness Ripening In My Heart
Bituminous Briquettes Of Coal For Eyes
We’Re Walking On Mars And Yet Down Here
You Can Tell By The Burnt Out Haloes
Estrangement Yoked To The Incompatible
No Mystery In The Stigma Of The Misery
Foxfire Blooming In The Afterbirth Of The Ashes
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