Dave Prisk


  and how the hymn is such
an old one, how it smells of iron bars
across a storm drain,
groaning and creaking as it's speaking
to the air
                        to the air
I'm spelling it out for you,
spelling it out for you as we
run to the cellar, as the
ceiling spins away
                    to the place above
where our tongues are crippled
and the cuts have yet to heal, as the
waiting comes to an end and we bend
                        at the knees,
       because this would be an example
  an example of

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