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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Sunday, October 24, 2010

The Bones We Inhabit

i am wrecking my face
with a map of your apartment
it is deer hunter orange
over aluminum slurries of a power base
the substance in which lumberjacks
store their unwanted furniture
for unanswerable admissions policies
that clearly refuse tradition
to underwrite their own grandfathers
in respect to aspects of career
who came along way, baby
just to collapse in grand mal revelations
in a reasonable age who hope to claim

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