.The Gulls, The Hawks, The Hacks, The Doves.

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The gulls, the hawks
The hacks, the doves,
Wings weaving
Feathers all fluttering,
And even
an errant burnt
autumn leaf or two,
Are all flying
angled against
The winds.
And the rains come
Pouring down,
under a darkened sky falling where they will to, and must,
On city towers and humankind alike;
But detained
from the rain,
Are a few rare pockets
of sunshine
In a few certain
and in some
ceratopsian corners
of a bustling
pre-election, predilection

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