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RMatheson
Poems
Feb 2019
Hum Electric
The edges were brittle,
the chip's corners itched
down like a metal prong into a filling,
nerve.
It squealed binary hemorrhages,
subtle as a battle axe,
my pleasure,
please
put it past me,
in the present
where I can now hum
electric.
Written by
RMatheson
M/Beating tired bones
(M/Beating tired bones)
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