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Today I spoke

with someone’s
mother. Everyone is
someone’s mother,

brother, sister, father,
child – exacting through
the circuits of biology
a wild inevitable ride

of expectation
born of yearning:
love will be returned.
And here we’re

sitting, chatting, feeling
spurned. I’d say
let’s grab the Cosmos
by the tits and suckle it

until it fits – which

it already does.
Home is air.
We’re there.






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