When I lifted you
out of wide clouded
smokey black despair
Thought I was hoisting
a dead man
Your finger moved
and I screamed
stupidly
Could bring the enemy
hordes tracking us
You nearly gone and
my voice rippling
hoarse while they tear up
my body
Stringing it in a tree
for birds to finish
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Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres. Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.
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