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Onoma
Poems
May 2017
Moth Dust
your sight's the filmy
wound of a dream,
which you swab
with moth dust.
a wing beat away
from disintegration.
the sound of
final breath fallen
on deaf ears.
the rite that night
scatters,
bouncing off walls
and windows.
shocked by sudden
brilliancies, seen as
tunneled ends.
Written by
Onoma
NYC
(NYC)
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