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mxolisi dolla sapeta
city
the city does not end
on a night like this
stillness nibbles at the nippy stench
from men without tongues
inside of unmarked graves
slam a door down the throats
of greedy loiters from frustrated prostitutes
whispers from gloomy cars pass the time
i make my own glory in this solitary hour
on this bed and in your frail sweaty arms
i am the smell of warm colours that glow
the long night of mutinies
i am the wood that burns its history in this siren forest
and i am still here, you too
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