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Dec 2015
There is a cement path
Cutting the belly of the suburban grotto
Burning pine smell
My friend toils
A girl sits feeding
Into the fire
Small sticks from her
Hands as his voice
Reaches the deck

With me
Head in phone
Alone in my mind
Breaking orbit
I struggle against gravitational
Moments of self doubt
Red memories incarnate
In the subtle awkwardness
That brands my madness.
Written by
jack
258
   Sumina Thapaliya
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