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My Fist Smells Like Graveyard

Funeral Diner

claim your place as victim in the perverse knowledge of
something to fall back on with hands held so loosely as i
pour the water through so many times i tried not to wonder
conflicts avoided words mumbled under breath truth buried
out behind a face the advantage taken with no thought to
rectify when the well is dry they will reattach themselves
and again the face smiles but not to mine