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Mary Paterson

Time

Shows its fist at sunrise. Destroys
the mood with sirens. Sours soft

fruit into hard fruit. Bruises hard
skins into slackness. Feels

its way into new rooms
with its tongue. Kisses me

with grudges. Gets progressively
louder. Trips the cadence wrong

for the punchline.
Continues.

author bio
issue ten

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