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Cara.

The Prodigal

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Cara.   

Shot

My back itches to kiss the wall

But my feet stay rooted

Out of my hands the raw rice drifts down

Like leaves on a dead tree

Like blood

Shout

A stranger waves

A demon strapped to his back

He laughs and embraces me

Little sister how you’ve grown

I hold still

Sweat and gunpowder surround me

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