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Abby Koning

The Taste of Cold Dregs

(a whisper reaches your ear:
‘nobody likes the taste of cold dregs…’
and you attach no meaning to it)

you linger reposed beneath the sinking light
the soft yellow glow that rightfully
belongs
to yesterday

and your face reflects
in the thin sheet of glass
behind which you remain
separate
from everybody you’ve met
and everybody
you’ve yet to meet

your fingertips resonate with your
identity
your mind resonates with

[...] Read more

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