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A lesson in control

A crown of thorns
 
weighs down golden curls. Your name
 
scrawled in crimson across ashen slabs,
 
stacked up liked the disregarded crisps packets
 
that form crinkled mountains on glazed wooden tables
 
in pubs crammed with cadavers that make mist on the surface
 
on windows scratched with spider’s lace. Guilt that snakes its way
 
up your throat, as hot as summer’s oven, makes you choke
 
on the cragged edges of the icy marble words, that rolled
 
off your rough salmon tongue. They knocked me out,
 
a sparrow in flight, hit with the worn coating
 
of a damp pebble. Feathers that float like shattered sylphs
 
to roll around in Earth’s coarse blanket of soiled dirt.

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