Calvin Becker
the blood came in drops
the sandpiper gargled
the freshly lit worm
caught on the telephone wire
as the hailstorm
gently sliced her index finger
the light hit the razor
the blood came in drops
the flesh of the wound
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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