Yes, the post title is lame, but all the better to make the post itself shine!
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wicked love was not made
for
men says
god
when he cries about
the church
that
crashed in on itself
tornado
the country we were raised in
the color
green through liquid
and
glass
that falls atop
a white fence.
your mother
was young
once
and counted coins on a dresser
top
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I am a snake
oligarchy
cripple doing
the good
dance
like the window
shade
drawn
around the curves of a woman
and her
red hips
my
love
is not worth dishwater
she sang
she
sang
and all brothers head off in mountains
with rifles
for my
neck
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the slick rain
sheets
came off the line
in
the moment of
ivy
only a moment
I’ll
be married
to the famous
girl
on
the back of a match
book
and she’ll
be skeleton
so
stringent the silence of sliced
face
against a wire and glass
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