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No Acorn My Epitaph
In the darkness of the hollows
beneath the crescent scythe
no acorn my epitaph
on my lips gone to blue
of my patchwork cadaver
an autopsy on dead leaves
with a fetish for the marrow
like an old dog gone to bone
separating the seed
from my peach
beneath the crescent scythe
no acorn my epitaph
on my lips gone to blue
of my patchwork cadaver
an autopsy on dead leaves
with a fetish for the marrow
like an old dog gone to bone
separating the seed
from my peach
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