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mother poem

i shake my hair in the wind of morning
give me hunger
were it not for that singular smell
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
she said
now while my lips are living
there is a country full of wine
braided and woven
she burst fierce wine
i went up and down the streets
renew the vision of delight
perhaps it is no matter that you died
so lost
in all things not spoken of

 



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