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sun is fly paper moon is my reflection in deep water mirrors are portals to other worlds my sadness strings maps to other dimensions red yarn tied and tied again this knot is my blood this knot is my protection memory is a wound i pick at a rusty thumb tack goes here at seven i spit grapes seeds on cement and the patterns told me where to go next there is nowhere to go now so i sit in the circle of the moon
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AuthorMichelle Tinklepaugh Archives
April 2023
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