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A quarterly international literary journal

The Mourn



/ Poetry /

Burnt patterns crevice

their thin shadows

overnight :: the witness

is consumed in the edge


of darkness and we mourn the

silence :: bleak whispers

replace the death carpet

after years of


drought :: and we have begun

to pour over gallons of

paint and hope ::

there is another


way of understanding

this but it involves

a crowd of men and

consumption :: it involves


piss rivers shallowing

their bare feet ::

it involves the madness of

god and belonging ::


but first please bow

your head and silence

and pray :: our bodies

will be a thin chalky line


when everything falls

apart :: we only dreamt

it was all more than

dust

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