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Bill Manhireonline works |
MILLENNIAL Under an eyelash under a stone but no he lived under her fingernail. He was the silent moon. So much foliage crammed inside the bride! He was the silent moon. In Spring the husband was dark in every language. And so on and so on. And soon the skeleton was biting its way through the badlands to where she sat on the floor reviving her bicycle. The song when it came was light left in the radio; it started up like a car about to enter a river and then it was over. ©Bill Manhire |
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