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Detainee 445048y

Andrew Grossman

According to the wall clock
Which tells neither morning or night
But simply numbers on a face,
One minute in the vast conflict has passed
Since I tasted the saltiness of my blood.
One cannot know the source of the harsh light.

Shouts do resonate, bones do break
In the outer room where the guards play.
The pipe between my throat and the sky
Is running full with sparkling excrement.
Although we scrape the earth, the well is dry.
I shall awake from screaming to scream.

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