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PK Wakefield
Poems
Jul 2015
Untitled
some field full of grass
grass leaping
and spits from the
soil
(or)
which hurts to least
to see and fold
within sight
the curt splinter
of girl hips and
wider than death
they eat the spring
into which becomes
Summer by
the scrape and spark
of their tuff
tinder.
Written by
PK Wakefield
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