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Poets swagger up and down the shore, I’ll bet.
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the lotus moon is a lover’s wound
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I am summoned by a door
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the stony will / swelling into sweetness, the acid
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Blood in the dirt, stirred with a finger
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A hemisphere is not your hair
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The sky, too, like a delicate dress
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my blood moves like tectonic plates: so slow
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Last night I slept on the floor of the sea
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I close my eyes
