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Sal Gelles
Poems
Nov 2013
slight sanctity in blood
torn, shred,
and what was left, partitioned,
awaiting ripping.
ripe in sunlight,
dense from weightless life,
it sits, waiting.
there's nothing
to fulfill anymore, expectations
wait for disbursement.
distressed,
dressed to the nines, tens, elevens,
until the twelfth hour;
waiting, consistently
for another slip of their finger
to slice through skin,
porcelain, crimson,
beauty, pain, life, love, lingering;
waiting takes too long.
Written by
Sal Gelles
The road
(The road)
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Emily Tyler
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