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| CONSOLATION
by Lise Downe If only commodious was the only issue. If not just by your utterance but back a bit. The steps swallowed whole left uninhabited. Wide-eyed and wondering. If the consequence of weird feet was then juxtaposed by a hyphen, grounded on a premise that undulates in spite of in spite of. Shock infusing everything. Everywhere. One of whom and one of whom one then may gather. To turn, then, these anomalies, their pockets useless unless the two overlap like a fortune cookie. Luckily. |