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"snowcave" poems
At this moment, I am wedged between my tonsils. Stuck, yet scrambling to stay still                     (I am afraid to make a noise.) Beneath me: there is nothing but an empty stomach,                 behind me: a neck which wears its weakness in its cracking                         and before me: a tongue trapped in a clammy cage                                     by a brain blanketed in discomfort.
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Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 7:47 PM UTC
the snowcave