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sonja benskin mesher
Poems
1d
.910 eleven twelve.
all are talking of numbers
constantly. three years that, 5 tears this,
no music plays on this computer now.
it plays in rooms, where darkness lingers,
where cloths are folded neatly, ready
to store, to air , mend, abide until required.
each day has a number, each a task.
i have drawn seven chairs, need to
do thirty three more,. this is a project.
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen
Written by
sonja benskin mesher
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