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Staying awake for the end of the world
A collection of poems
Self published 2016
In the dark recesses of the British Museum
The grief went sticky in my mouth.
My tongue still longs to spit it out.
The riverbed bleeds when I pick its scabs.
Nature, nature, how can I wait longer?
My bones are so dry, the marrow inside hard and shrunken
like little glots of sap after winter,
Not fit even to chew on.
Water balloons like sagging breasts, only slightly leaking and collecting
Meaning there is a feeling, there is a sensing, there is a liquid
That conducts the electricity slightly.
I know I am strong, but more like a stone or a mountain.
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