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Kilns and Violins
Dark place
my place
standing water
violin frogs...so very quiet.
Where is my voice
where are the lungs
flung into wells of fire
another day for the kiln
another day somewhat overdone.
the meaning of "whole" has paled,
half a heartbeat shy of "it"
karma has raked its orange teeth
on the nape of all regret
parched, dark raiders on desert hills
honing golden knives
slinging crimson shrills
while I collect water in paper palms,
bartering sips for a life
my place
dark place
heart quilled by golden shards
standing water
violin frogs so very very quiet
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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