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Jan 2013
shed that shell
translucently
lacquered
by childhood

that insect
fluttering  behind
the ivory
bars of your ribcage
was once buried
under funerary mosses
of a fallen oak tree
three hundred years
of aged silence
basking in it's demise
saying
"I stretched
to the heavens
but they scurried away
every night  of every day"
My Name Here
Written by
My Name Here
629
 
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