tonight the backyard is brutalin its twilit emptiness& I have put my lipson the glass of his face againso I won't be lonely& I have dressed to please himbecause it's too quiet heremy hand alive in the cage of hisan actual dandelion in the grassbeside his sandalthe mosquitoes grazing our ankleswe should go inside he saysas the pitchblack comes on again like arsenicover the glowing lawn
-Deborah Landau
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