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Mar 2012
Different voices whirl
Around brain mass.
Pang for a tone
That hasn’t gone mad.

Create a realm
Where memories,
Of November,
Are cut out and sold.

Tell the voices
To draw a tale.
Boxes popping about;
From dry air.

Screeching rhythms
As you fold
Onto men,
Like Saran Wrap.  

Authority can’t resolve
Genetic stigmas.
Hidden formulas appear,
Toxicity enthralls.

Grasp her bony joints,
Bathe in unkempt hair,
Let marsh stricken irises
Put an anchor inside.
Kate Browning
Written by
Kate Browning
816
 
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