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The Last Bruise I Harvest Here
Feeding Fingers
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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In casts, nudes I scald
And weave bandages from canvases
In hospices like mantises in love
The last bruise I harvest here
Caressed by searchlight blue
Promenades clear
Where blind, tangled, noosed pairs will nod
Miles of food-chain
Break apart
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