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Jun 2019
lost under my house,
one chair less, a hole,
black teeth chew

at a space in my lungs,
less light through milkglass
means a shifting at table

that sinks bits of night
that hide in corners like steps;
a dull ghost is creeping

in times of moving air.
Written by
Leslie Philibert  63/M/Germany
(63/M/Germany)   
159
     Bogdan Dragos and Fawn
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