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somehow
as if you'd ever written
anything worth remembering
aside from the
pain in your dick
your head
the same
as sliding down
hill
on your backside
the leaflitter clattering
broken like snakes
and chains
this perfect fall
described in
curlicues
held breath
when love had
a broadside
odes in rain
they smell like
the dying surge
,bloated cereal boxes
,long-suffering earthworms
bruised, buried in air
;no, you've never written
one down but they live
there in her
live
like mushrooms
like sunlight
a cadence that sways
a funereal beat
just under the surface
of the world.
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