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Mar 2017
**** me now!
I have seen the moons hidden holes
The clouds move with narrow marks.
The houses stay!
The wild dog leaves to go in for the nite.
The washer stops humming.
The fan keeps turning.
The tiles a movment for grime and unclean hairs.
The waters a dying gasp for the brutal lover
Let me hold you!
Michael Parish
Written by
Michael Parish  Tacoma, washington
(Tacoma, washington)   
224
 
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