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on Saturday, April 27, 2013


Untitled

the lilikoi vines pull themselves
through the windows, thieves feasting on the stench.
this house festers in its own loneliness
and releases itself back into the world -
there are no children.

now, you are doled out here and there
soup and bread for the curious  
in a box of photographs, gathering dust and
dried up millipedes.

you leap from the aircraft,
shoulders pulled over themselves, and
hurtle toward the land, divided into
infinite identical squares.

gravity leaves you

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