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BAD
DREAMS
1
daughter
you have bad dreams
you
dreamed of me
with
redly doctored
lacerations
a
ridged shell from another layer
trilobite
on a shelf
with
nowhere to evolve to
and
you wept for me
my
wounds my changes
2
do
i dare tell
on
this shamelessly violent coast
how
i weep for you also
see
you among Seminole palms
on
a plundered coastline
the
sea caesáreaned
by
the moon’s knife
as
you scream at the bones
of
Seminoles in the palm-roots
i
scream
even
at stones
we
go back through our dreams
Alan
Marshfield
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