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| The face in the moon had stitched up lips,
Stitched up eyes with rotten black thread And didn’t answer my questions. The moon and the gods are partners in dead sea silences. I interrogated the moon asking where she was It just died back at me Glowing spilt ghost piss Unable to comment Because I didn’t have a right to ask Where she is Because she has gone Descended and away I wouldn’t ask god again He lost an angel for me An angel with melancholy wings I think she walks in tired tides And sits underneath light buildings Listening to the rush of the sands Of time Time then Time now |
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