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Poetry For Health

 

I want to feel my small room a cabin 
in a boat, rocking imperceptibly

and understand when I open the door
flames will fill the corridor I must walk

like a statue on wheels, chiselled features
set firm, my thoughts bent to sombre lovers

the sweetest thing holds her breath on Mars
unwilling to be reconciled cheaply

Houdini of the prisons remains dead
to the heart beat any fool can feel

◄ Poor Lives Matter

The Figure ►

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