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Perhaps if you had
escaped the grip of my hope hawk
transudates not precipitated
stubbornness as heartbreaking
hail
found eroding
thoughts about where
as
find. Banal
this complaint
woman unsatisfied female clouded
not know where.
Whoever you get me out of this world
spectrum of shades of truth really
distensible.
Maybe if my bucolic
ignorance
not charge much emphasis had been my hope
released the grip
letting go. His body
preserving naive
wrinkles of anxiety and hump
load and guilt, and blindness
has been
the head, not knowing where you
or where it leads.
dream of the owner of my obliteration, disconnector
me-me
encasing a single purpose in a single utility
:
which sat in the waiting
cornice
chills remembering those who
made me mourn.
And I in my power to rip
I can not;
last I realize.
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