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Mark Fleury 2017 poetry book
the Eight Wheeled
Doorway of
Serpent’s Head
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The Skeleton Building
Mark Fleury
I’ve no name until something’s made.
The skeleton building’s
Third eye glint
Is a trace left
Like a sunset’s suicide note. As its river
Cleanses my reflection,
My hand strums over guitar strings in a blur.
The eye breaks
My belly’s hunger open. Sometimes a song has a fragile
Bones.
It might show me
Climbing its stairs
As I try to reach
Its beginning after a long illness.
When I reach the top
I’m the listener in a long black trench coat dropping
The needle down in a pink room.
Space
That keeps opening to include all names.
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