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I heard them say that it will be okay.
Meanwhile, transparent poison
drips from bag to box
to the graceful cage of bone.
The body explodes,
massacred in watercolor.
Who is eating whom?

I heard the doctor say that the tyrant reigns.
Yet, the scalp emerges, shining valiantly.
Buds grow into dysplastic blooms;
flames fade to embers, and embers ashes—
Can ashes fuel flames?

I hear them sing, love makes the world stop.
But why doesn’t the world stop for the loved?
I only know how to hold you.
Selfish Earth, please stop spinning.

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