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After the pump
And here you are, your mouth
moist still from the pump.
I would not have thought
a face could be so white.
You will speak resentment,
when you wake, that the dark
fluids of your sadness have
been brought into this cold light.
But, finding you like that,
who could have let you go?
Who could know your true intent?
I did not. Perhaps you knew it.
Words may help. The language
is well established and the lines are set.
Here at the end of the factory chain
even your sorrow seems not unusual.
Somerset 1997
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