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ENTRAILS

By Erika Jane



Leave me gutted

A grisly mess of flesh and bone

Bespoke scars a staple

To this home of ligaments

A heartbeat

A forgotten tone

Move my entrails

In a pattern on this cold Cotswold stone

And foretell a fortune

Bequeathed to none

But the bloodied

Wetted entrails

That were once my own


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