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October 2, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
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Sit still while I

comb the demons from your hair.

On their way out

they are spitting,

and fighting.

Grabbing at the knots,

their lips on your lips.

I bite down hard and tear them out with chunks of hair.


Picking out the lies slowly from between my teeth.

Like looking in the mirror at a petrol station

or, in another life,

sitting together quietly

on an empty porch.


You never returned my library books,

I always forgot and

folded down the pages.


When I imagined you with her

it was like us,

but with the sheets crumpled

into a different shape.

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