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Onoma
Poems
Mar 2019
The Pent Thrall
pulled from the pent thrall
of the womb...to crowd surf
the hired hands of goddesses.
straightening my gait like a
thin-skinned fruit, under harsh
lights.
colicky disembodiment carried
my voice through walls and
ceilings.
i wanted back what my tiny pink
fingers could not grab.
Written by
Onoma
NYC
(NYC)
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