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The Redwood



Bathe in the blood of the shuddering people, cleanse their pain. Won’t you smile, asked the redwood, I am Love...

And collect the limbs of affinity, stack them high in Iraq and Afghanistan. Bury them in exactness… then sleep. Years and years will soon fade without truth- without compassion, our most ancient vow.

If the redwood breathes, might our love?


© 2010 by mark prime

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