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There is no blood

pouring from this cut

that is my voice,

it is frozen in the

cold wind of the mind.

And against the chatter

of empty porcelain teeth

fall the crystal shards

of words that go out

on smiles that balloon

with “Oh the importance of me.”

 

 

F. Kate Langan writes poetry and re-canes chairs in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. She has been honoured by The Journal of Wild Culture, Open Door Poetry Magazine, Five Fleas Itchy Poetry, Plato's Caves Online, Nixes Mate, Straylight Literary Journal, and Sweetycat Press's “The Gift” anthology, who have published her work.

 

 

 

 

 


 

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2 Comments


Powerful poem from first line on!

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Thank you. I am so glad that it spoke to you.

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