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Onoma
Poems
Feb 2017
Throat Gone For
Throat gone for...
would word,
word forsaken?
Ascribed to no language...
interstices
in a Void...
hallowed they be.
Light/Dark
cast unto them...
by them.
Surreptitious incantations
occasion Being pause...
throat gone for...
bled...
would word, word
such a
silence?
*In worship of every primal, sacred syllable that has emerged from silence.
Written by
Onoma
NYC
(NYC)
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NuurSeraph
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Kelly Rose
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