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Twin bowstrings are taut against my spine. Thrum thrum thrum. Day is complete / sun to sleep / bury worn limbs / beneath the deep

Thrum thrum thrum. Guitar chords, and the music eddies around my still form. They all sway like trees in the wind.

Sump sil silfin seal. Black lines form scales across the page. This is where those blinds fell from Saul’s eyes. Here, here, on my page.

Palms upwards. Take what I cannot give, Oh my God. My brow is like a rock. My feet fall inwards in my sandals. I stand. Achingly taut.

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