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Tags: Poetry, Kkk

A poem about the KKK written in regualar cinquains.

Submitted:May 7, 2009    Reads: 75    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


It sprawls,


the chair onto the floor,

crumpled and creased like a slumped ghost,

the sheet.


the hood nearby:

tall, pointed, cotton white

and with two unwavering black holes

for eyes.

You start

to realise

that here in this town still

bedrooms hold secrets that whisper

and kill.

Peter Keeble


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