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Tonight, I Wish I Were a Dirt Dauber
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Published: Wed Jul 01 2015
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Tonight, I Wish I Were a Dirt Dauber

driven from my mud-chunk home
by pebbles slung from the wild
hands of human boys.

The larders stocked, I’ll feed
forever on orb weavers
and forget words like prognosis

and treatment. I’ll be the sting,
not the stung, and Death
will hear my hum in his own worn-out ears.

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