I leaned left towards your block
focused on feeling the weather change
in my tights and mock
wool mini skirt
in hopes it would
cure my malingering,
would halt my bloodlust,
my persistent inner child
pleading with her hands out
looking for touch and I am
suddenly spades out in your dead garden and
running forward,
something pinned between
my teeth:

lines, the way that
pauses form a look,
a stare, a book,
my thirteenth draft
to you. Saturn
returns to Scorpio
and I begin to grow
the tail.

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