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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Death in a Jar
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He shoos her old body into the cellar
to fetch her death. The labels are faded,
and she wonders if she's mad
to look for pulsing black,
like in a horror's B movie,
when death could be a uranium
beauty queen — a glow
flooding the glass, until mayhem
in a tiara breaks out.
God should mark these things:
Scraped into a Bodybag
or Found Beneath a Younger Man.
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copyright d. dixon
8/25/2008
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