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Evening Tied

Evening tied,

there is no way to unravel

the hard cords of days

that strangled the roots

of a once flourishing garden.

But only she lies

in her thousand names

doubled over- a crumbling buddha

into a place of velour

rubbed the wrong way


folded vocalized sounds back into her body

and runs her mouth over with blame.

As the night trips on,

Everything goes to sleep..

the absence of a twitter tinges the hungry mind

which creates its own noises of abuse…

Sheeted in beads of sweat,

snapping cords since there is no use holding up

a dead garden anymore

she falls off the wall

limp over the edge

bearing the pain of the scab but not the scar..

and warms her eyes

on the breadth of her broken hands

she will never learn to lean on.

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