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Ann Beaver Aug 2015
The flavor of this place
Is choking rancid
Back of the throat
It crashes

Stitch your lips together,
Remain here,
Forgotten by the feather
Of a flock
Now sitting on kitchen tables,
no longer together
Were they ever?

And never
Has there been a moon
I didn't wish to share

With you
Ann Beaver Aug 2015
Splinters in the stone
Passed a tree
Now gone and gray
Some may say
It's not personal

Sublime days:
Colored red,
Smelling of nothing,
And feeling like even less.
Ann Beaver Jul 2015
My days are now
One more thing to bear
My skin is now
Just a dare
And I feel your lungs
Press into a simple math problem
With twos and ones
And zeros
Ann Beaver Jul 2015
Go to write.
Blank
Fan
Blades
Turn slowly. Then quick.
As the switch turns itself
Pause. Click
Send
Tying a noose to the other end
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