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From Marika Prokosh:

February 15, 2016

I don’t doodle

names in florid cursive, I watch

from lowered lashes, scowl

into my seltzer, and dream

of paper layers

around my nesting chambered

heart, of long and clever fingers reaching

for me in dark bars, a compromised safehouse.

– From The Outing of Harriet M Welsch, from Poetry is Dead magazine, Issue #11

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