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The Speech MAG
April 23, 2010
at times i
think my throat has
been
overtaken
by rust
and my voice
pours
out
flecked
with orange, harsh and discordant
vocal cords
crusted
over.
it
could be that my
rib cage is imprisoning a
cackling, croaking
bird, a crow or a raven, better
yet,
a
magpie
that steals my
words and hoards them.
i
drown
in my voice
you drown in
my voice.
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