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My hand hammering awkward on the earth, mouth a gap, tongue round the neck

blushes cold river drops, the sideways kick of a lame dame

sitting, wading, angled brow, powdered realism in the rolling rapids of the lost frame

whips away the sound bite
loud vibes in my tight skull, ears pop sickly in the rain.

poured over the red light, the time passing away the coast

the tense rhythm in time,  Christmas ruins.

Being let in the bouquet, I’m in the tide of mind, in a sour wet field.

A Lie.