Uncouth Ve r o n i c a N a t i o n
Dust of drab gray wings fluttering under dying dim dinner lights: summer season signals a reminder of that loss of a moth-hater who pulled knees up to chest and covered eyes with dry hands, who watched those small, ugly bodies writhe in blind frustration, who only unfolded after each moth was pulled into a vacuum-tomb, whose long hair became a tangled nest of a home for unwanted night-bugs, who began every summer waiting for moths to break their wings.
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After-Noon Thought Ju li a Reising
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