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To Be
one thing is branching into many
forks and splays without me ready
how must I ever learn to sew
my love into some kind of show
to rain upon the crowd of truth
that unlike my heart, the mouth: uncouth
there’s a simmer that will not rhyme
or ever change with passing time
but when it’s thick and hot I feel
that sticky comfort of what’s real
wriggling the atmosp...
Friday 26th July 2019 6:21 pm
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