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Septuple

Accommodate no man, before language is turned again
Upon itself. She carries now my children unto death:
Wading into battle unarmed, anger unrequited,
Waist-deep in expiration.

To loiter neverward lest she, untethered, split the sky
In multiples of sound, introspective uroboros;
Sometimes, swallowing them whole.

But relegated then, as we are, to shielding our eyes
And I, giddy in the sinister and hungering wake
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Sunday, June 15, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: grief
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
http: //en.wiktionary.org/wiki/septuple
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