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Katherine
Poems
Aug 2012
Saved
Beneath the rot
of every-
day grammar.
The language
curls, sick,
on the back of every
throat. Unspoken.
Garbage was meant
for cracked blacktop
expanses in the heat
of the day.
Gold keeps under
the leagues of the sea
for a reason.
Silence.
Humanity may find
all the answers.
Written by
Katherine
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