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Sydney Whitby

anthropologist

Verse

Verse

Floss

I crave the companyalthough its like a piece of flossthat I wrench too farinto that pinky fleshto cry something redand

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ROMA, SINGULAR

Day carries on brightly,he has no other choice.surrounded and swarmed by summery fleshmy blood runs alone, frosted winteron my crown

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Bomen

The trees whistle and turn and say I love youThe sky softens into a pasty blueTo touch my cheek and

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No shade

All three of my heartslie across the oceanthe shade offers little protectionto anything but my skin How do you keep

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Not Much

Not much more thansprightly twigsgreen tomatoseed on asphaltthe atoms sprawled across the skybefore they gather in a meetingand become a

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