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Untitled (4/25/11)

August 15, 2011

a low tower
watches a slow trickle
down unwelcome steps.

over, some hills away,
the moats would cross themselves unguarded,
but you took the wild

and, left with holes of will,
seizures to pass,

i kept to spring.

your mouth so swollen
reared at me,

like untold blasts,

i shiver
and fold in and out of hours–
lapsing into one season all years long.

by the time your tongue comes for me,
i’ll be out among
the last land,
future edge to your current ground,

and my steps will count your way
back behind
to the fall.

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