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o r p h a n s
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A N Y S S A K I M
frightened we may lose ourselves
further we escape
from one entropical island
to the next
never further washed away
from the explosive
solitude of our beginning
battered between cobalt seas
of legitimate names
we grow interested
in cramped spaces
in secret, wincing at
unclear images of a self
through corrugated glass
frosted over, lest we are caught and
broken, we hold an empty history
to our breast, like water spat out
of salt, a thirst that keeps us
searching through arterial dust
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