
The Lost Manuscript
Already manuscripts are burning, / and the snow from Chornobyl is flying
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I taste my own salt blood / and remind myself I am still alive
Read MoreI want a crane poem to / deconstruct the sarcophagus-heavy helmet and corset, the luminescent poster-sun on the wall
Read Moreyour urn was / exactly as you’d wanted
Read MoreWas all of this enough? / I won a game, I won a game again
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