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Claires Lament Claire plays a song To shake my dead mothers Bones.

A death rattle She pulls from a red guitar. Claires voice skins me. God travels roads Littered with homesick Widows. Claire sings. We kiss. Our hearts need Surgery. We lack The skills. Our thin love Goes brittle on gravel Roads lined with crosses And silk flowers, ghost In cornfields, fat Crows. Hearts too tired To mend, Claire whispers. Were Gods lost sheep. Claire sings, Tongues Of Fire, acappella.

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