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A Poem

I sigh in a spiral, working circles around myself, blinding shadows while I whittle away at what’s left of the light

your grammar is all archaic and I can’t understand the words you’re writing

I want to die with the image of your words half in my ear, half out of it — I want to become the symbol of the religion of you



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J.D. Harms

Former hairstylist, perpetual philosophy student, swallowed by poetry, writing, ideas