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Chris Weir
Poems
Sep 2011
l'hypnagogique
Before my eyes
(an african woman rising from the ground
crying streams of sand infinite her wailing sound pierces
her son I call to me he bites off his finger and
rubs his blood in my hair and across
my face he cuts me)
open;
itβs tattooed in my mind for a blink.
Written by
Chris Weir
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