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Poetry of Issue #6 Page 58 | ||
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Click Page 58 |
job never died
born in a funeral home
full of speechless friends
I walked in the dark,
rubbed each body,
applying make-up even
to men. my life
was dressing the dead.
I took off my clothes
and put them on them.
some of the dead said
no until mice made them
naked
Lørpsliç Bierkegårt | ||