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       #Post#: 232--------------------------------------------------
       untitled
       By: SkaaDee Date: July 22, 2016, 8:35 am
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       I gauge my drink by the allure
       of the axe, the slits in the stump,
       the salty wafts of drying lumber.
       one more sip I tell myself, iron
       through wood, fist around rubber,
       a last sober thought before I move on
       ****
       you can hear a pin drop, a carcass
       laying in wait, the motion of flies,
       poke it with a stick, imagine eyes
       not used and thighs not warm.
       this place
       is the sign, roadside, attacked by rust
       overgrown by weeds. swarms of mosquitoes
       direct you in, excited to show what
       they've been up to.
       none even stop the car for children
       playing beside the sycamore trees
       in the mud
       *****
       a lesson on figure drawing
       she saw me as an outline with
       negative space between my arm
       and the fireplace
       which she imagined too
       to be just a source of heat
       
       
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