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Mekael Shane
Poems
Apr 2017
Ink
When the poet writes
His wrists, he cuts
Then, he bleeds
Into your cup
So you can
....drink
He then, mixes in
Echoic phonesthemic
Units of language
Which ultimately proves
That the poet's blood
...is made of ink
Excerpt from:
'Jacob's Ascent, Poetry by Mekael'
© Mekael Shane, 2017
Written by
Mekael Shane
Zürich, Switzerland
(Zürich, Switzerland)
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