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Jun 2013
Let me try to explain these things.
I slide a need and thread
through my wings.
Over and over.

All the dirt I've bled
stains your shirt.
All the words I've said
over and over

echo off the walls
never quite heard.
Meaning trips and falls
over and over.

I keep repeating
I keep grabbing at something fleeting.
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
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