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mass MAG
rosa mística
estrella de la mañana
you are the glazed wood
of the pews stretching
forever in a
little trinket box.
you are a basket of roses;
sunday mornings are always cold.
pandora’s box has
been opened. the devil
is in me and you.
a crown of green thorns
stars are somewhere under the clouds.
you are the stubborn
blotches of resin
on white plaster walls
that never fall
down.
you smell immortal
you are the bells at 8 a.m.
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“Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see” -Mark Twain