Calvin Becker
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the blood came in drops


the sandpiper gargled
the freshly lit worm
caught on the telephone wire
as the hail storm
gently sliced her index finger
 
the light hit the razor
the blood came in drops
 
the flesh of the wound
was like a rain swollen willow
bent double by the wind
only the matchsticks worked
in the electrical storm
 
the light hit the razor
the blood came in drops
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