Tuesday, February 24, 2015

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I used to take people in, find them chairs, try to get
them to stay awhile.  The ice sets on the outside.
I have my burden of miscommunication to carry.


As if my whole existence has been rejected,
I walk around reeling, with powers useless,
unconscious.


           At the bottom, closed-circuit void,
           un blur the entrance, a killer of psalms,
           dug in, wisdom less, cursed with joy,
           throttling the mutual organism for pleasure.

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