The Voices

Get out of me before I scream
voices of children and dogs
of radios and telephones
of the exhaust of buses
of dead birds frozen in the gutters

Don't touch me or I will explode
faded hands of the old with their old smell
blighted hands of beggars
crumbling trees
electrical wires slicing the lucid blue skin of the sky

Keep out of my mouth my heart my loins

Don't murder me with your voices of the dead that speak forever

by Jon Corelis

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