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Standing Tall Like a Knife


I’m appalled by all this shrill lightning, the stench of something reckless like an oven broiling millions whose only sin was their name.

And then the torture and wars with their odor of deceit standing tall like a knife stuck in the back of love.

Do we not understand ourselves enough to see it? We know the bat finds its prey, sensing its victims echo as it flutters in the shadow of self... and, you and I, what do we feel?


© 2012 by mark richard prime

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