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With my mouth full of birds,
and having taken just the tonic,
I find the sky filled with my words;
painted in distances hobbled and haunted.

The way out is hidden from my view,
and my hands are soiled with my birth.
Spiralling backward, I’m drawn into where we all
are dead and nothing hurts.
This is your river but you’re drowning too.

The way down is hidden from my view.
The way out is given to me through you.

I would be found pacified, if I gave in to the mania
for breaking every part of you.

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