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by Lana Bella


I have cast down
empires with my sad eyes,
draped paramours
with crinoline sash beneath sharp
blades of guillotines.

I fought them to exorcise
their hatred, even
my prayers fell through dirt searching
for water, where
rain had dried into wind.

It was said if I cry hard
enough I will remember my point
of departure, before I had
to silence everything
that left me.

So there I was,
my mind’s hands couldn’t steeple
into a reprieve,
I weighed then the idea of my primordial,
of becoming a knot,
wrestling in leakage of moral perfidies,
drawing mercy from concrete.

Posted by David Evans

David Evans, Feature Editor
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