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Sequel.

Pardon my lips she said without ramifications this begins the fictions of self as one lone cell selectively lost in cheap molecular memory, history competitive as the difficult desire to terminate what's caught between her legs with force this holocaust denial, dream. Here is the mortar listen can you breathe, dear? O mother, cover me in kisses, put me in the ground, seize no other moment. The blizzard's over. I don't remember the dishrags, but please, the body doesn't lie. How you smother me in distance. I camouflage this freeze.
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Author:Cory, Cynthia Jay
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:May 1, 1993
Words:90
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