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Simone Muench

after Neruda

a bronze song, something undone, salvia,
a crushed butterfly.
It is the blood on a light bulb, the seventh sadness,
a fluctuation that closes oceans and eyes. 38 more words

Poetry

Simone Muench

Dear Suicide—

How long have you been standing in the doorway
holding a fretsaw & dreaming of indentations?

You said the body was furniture, was fixture         163 more words

Poetry