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a poetry blog

Monday, July 25, 2011

Little Hatchets

raccoons eat birdseed true
and glow flourescent orange

some nights skulls in the ceiling
or dry bones in the plasterboards

I come across as lecturing sometimes
walking around on birdcage hooves

a hardworker and caretaker would just
take care of the rattling door

but all that means is I get to
find it on my own and stay open

hold on to it alone so I can
feel it when I'm home


2011

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