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PK Wakefield
Poems
Apr 2014
Untitled
i feel (body)
the way it
between my hands
performs the youth thing: life. The
uncouth thing, life. The
body way it
needs between hands
its.
the inexorable flinchless hurt of its marching finitely
--into bruises of hands--
its own hands.
that they might make
,by the coming together of palms
,a softness more supple than sleep
(a finite more extending than
infinites deep,
Written by
PK Wakefield
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