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three-barrelled gun
poetry [ ]
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by laurentiu ion [laurtibby ]
2009-01-10
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Solitude sticked its fingers
in its mouth
and threw up my violet entrails
I said
my heart lives illegal in my body
it has no flesh no blood
the moon masticates my shoulders
white tongue swimming
deep into frightened
and tired souls
human traces crushing
loneliness printed into the asphalt
my soul can hardly breathe
into a three-barrelled gun
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