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Marsha Singh Jun 2018
the world aches to de-
light me – it shakes its
wild hair and struts; it
also lies and philanders
and sometimes it cuts.
Marsha Singh Jun 2018
They think my nerves are cold
steel; they call me unnn-real, like
I'm a big deal; they think I'm all
fight, that I've gained deeper in-
sight. Like I'm alright. Like I don't
cry. And all I did was not die.
I had cancer. Then I didn't.
Marsha Singh May 2018
I like when you
invent fire, when
you discover the sun,
when you say hush woman
hush, believe this – we are one
Marsha Singh Mar 2018
Next time I wake from sleep
for keeps – from deepest, darkest
slumber – I may come back a little
bird to visit in the summer; my
quetzal pomp, green feathered
grace, singing through my hunger –
when I am gone, I may come back
your pretty bird, a wonder.
Marsha Singh Nov 2017
Not my stop, but
still the thought of
leaving makes my
heart feel hot – to cross
beneath the buzzing light,
softly into this crisp night.
Marsha Singh Nov 2017
hair freed,
closed blinds –
supine and un-
done, heart like
a warm gun.
Marsha Singh Nov 2017
I love how we
sound together –
your crackle of
laughter up the chimes
of my spine, and the
hush hush hush of
my satisfied mind.
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