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Click hereThat room end of the line
no exit and no turns
the light at the tunnel
Those sounds,
mewls, cries whimpers, groans
Those sounds,
Silent whispers through the air,
cutting like a knife,
and more like a cane,
animal hides coursing
then striking
Welts , stripes, raised lines
lay back and taking as she is
the Voice alone,
holding,
the sounds alone,
claiming.
her eyes locked on his face,
that expression transfixing,
a doe caught in the glare
she will never move
not when the lines drip,
not when the strikes
turn to soft splats
as the leather opens the inner
and why should she?
is that what He wants?
or what she needs?
Neither feeds alone,
each off the other.
skies, turning as the whorls of her mind,
mute and locked,
open slightly fill the air,
rent the ether.
Fly gloriously, finally
This poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>
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But this one, is completely cohesive, and I like it. Maybe it's because I can connect, and I know the feeling and had no problem binding myself to your imagery. Sometimes, I just don't know what the hell you're talking about. I like when I do.