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The Key
Anna Quartly
Corroded teeth
and decayed memories
jam into locked sockets;
where time ticks and turns
into a dagger of flame, a spear of smoke,
a blade of sound unfurls…
falls into brittle grains.
Unearthed by man’s hand,
tumoured dirt swells throat and eats torso
— a corpse of metal once clean with youth,
now rots into rusted ruin.
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