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fingers
trace lonely words,
crushing
the dust bunnies
who
gathered in the shadow
of
the grigorium, the watching
people
with weeping eyes--
and
other existences never quite
given
form, but all somehow
made
incarnate as they listen.
at
last the red-nail-car
grinds
to a halt.
stops
the ceaseless massacre
of
the little dirt animals
that
went unaccounted for
in
her silent plea for confession.
for
they shed dirt, not blood;
and
that cannot disturb
the
power of her written word.
A/N: breaking my hiatus. yay me.