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Half Life

Playing at soft, half light,
Weary and worn like
disobedient hands and
refugee thoughts
in murderous moments
of capture.

In contemplative stasis
eyes blind, panties torn,
a treacherous roving need
to feel split and savaged,
Lost and damaged,
The death of common ground.

Oversexed and empty
the world in a blue shift
Plus two, with a seven
finger hold on sanity.
Fourth street politics
And dirty, dirty rhetoric.

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