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Philip MetresNovember 04, 2015
O unnamed & only 
son too soon
slipped from tender clutch
of unripe body
 
from cursed branch
I will hang 
what’s left of you
until you bloom into bone
 
unnamed & only
aviary of ribcage
I will play what is 
reft from me
 
& cradle the hole
what is singing
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