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Blow Away Winds

Grains papering pink
Grating blue gashes of my ears
Which I cover
To no end
In germy Band-Aids that
Have gripped before

Glaring over glass rims,
reaching for my wrists and ankles and elbows
The way you’d
Cling, angrily, when you
Saw feet
Fumble at the great, gray door of the house turn
And stop outside

White wash walls and windows peel
But the paint’s still there,
See it, underneath my fingernails
Waving good afternoon and up
In the wet cupboards and
Washing cracks across the driveway
While the clouds smile,
Blow away



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