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Jul 2020
My eyelids are a coiled bolero,
a bear trap,
a battery.

My tongue is bitten with
careful measure.
The skin of my teeth,
a dormant antique.

My breaths tilt forward
to the next dry season
and downbeat ignition.

I keep faith with the calendar.
I worship the prophet,
the savior spark.
Written by
Ryan Dement  34/I'm right here.
(34/I'm right here.)   
42
   Bryn Kennell
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