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drying like a dog
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I wake up watching March huff,
she says:
your gods are angry,
yelling and smashing
their granite hammers
against their flint chests;
I don’t need this,
I have cherubs waiting for me.
April rubs my eyes with slanted spring light,
I contemplate the growling hour
between medicine and 10 am
strawberry onion bagels.
Why are we too vain to accept
unwantedness?
__________________
tim(mah)
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