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Policy
the trickle down poetics
coiffed, varnished, double dipped,
lay waste the oubliette of empathy
no balm, no salve
shall expel the foreign body that
thorns it’s path in the digital red apnoea
of each choked fallen promise
as they steal your desecrated breath
your lips are still moving
your lips are still moving even
as your face turns blue
...Tuesday 8th January 2013 10:50 pm
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