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We’ve masticated these bones
To the point they resemble #2 pencils
Warped like the souls who wield them
Flesh in supposition has lost its flair
Providing no new amplifications
Saffron tea leaves shaken in broken cups
Used to carry the images of future lore
They just settle now as unscathed queries
Spirits hear the discontentment
Providing no new redress to poignancy
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(Copyright © Donna L. Quesinberry)
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