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You could be in the ward: you could be in the morgue:
you could be on the same page with death.
Sounds & furious stars rolling
overhead spilling with apple-thunder.
We haven’t heard.
But we’re second notification.
If the broken man caught you,
you forgot your promise
to cling to the brass bedpost in extremity.
First will be brother, beloved, doctors
friends
frost telling loss to the garden in syllables lost in translation.
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