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May 2011
All of the windows are painted with pitch.
Every doorway sewn shut with steel stitch.
Each body rots here - odor of decay.
Prison that holds ******* life in delay.

Along comes a turpentine brush - wash away.
Scissors that sever. The cords fall today.
Aerosol spray cleanses air in fresh bloom.
Star arrives. Now you can flee from this room.
RMatheson
Written by
RMatheson  Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)   
7
 
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