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Hearing Mom Speaking

You don't know me well, but I can hear my Mom  
speaking out of the dust and through her accordion's  
cocoon. Echoing her crying as if her corpse hung the  
twilight beneath Raven's cuttlebone as she skipped  
the soft shoe. Listening to her bones cackle waiting  
for a kiss from the devil's piper and then the dark's  
polka, squeezing her accordion squeezy, making it easy.  
Written by PaleSkies
Published
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