I would stand as a child and watch my mother light candles on Friday nights.
She would close he
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the morning dew,
and spread her arms
in the wind, while
the storm she
survived blew into the
distance
I would stand as a child and watch my mother light candles on Friday nights.
She would close he
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In the morning night
When streetlight shadows
Scramble rat-ways
Under parked cars
And
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Q: How does it feel?
A: It's like sinking.
It's sour cherry red, dripping fire down your throat
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