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Ann Beaver
Poems
Jul 2013
Tethers and Strings and Ropes
Rusty saw blade
I hold on
Grind the dull blade
across tethers and strings and ropes
mummifying
strangling
not a cocoon like I once thought
do you feel the panic set in?
Needle ****** on your forearms
twine frays
did I ever say
that anything stays?
Written by
Ann Beaver
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