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Poetry International Web
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THIS STORY
You’re directing your gaze at something. It’s not clear. At my bare
head reflecting your very own sun and mood. Maybe. Come
steal this light. It looks like you know how. Speak. Lost your tongue?
Or maybe at my forehead. Marked black sheep the two of us.
Do you feel raging in your bowels
in the gaping spaces? The bird can sing
but it’s quiet. People prayed for a downpour
not this pathetic patter.