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Six Foot From Death

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As the cities first breath breathes by the fog yawn towers and

the street light steam life signs headlights signals green

pre-heated bodies babies and exhausted screams.

Given Gods speed and trust, silver scalpel and the devils thrust,

this blood, red blood, and pain that flows, saved yes saved, but from the saviours home, this sweat, sweet sweat, from the sterile surgeon alone, and his quick-quick slice that cuts to the bone, returned to mother, and others, two lungs, two hands, to dig my own, eternal home.

White cloth, red spot, tear drops, and the black paid maid,

with the red rung mop,

this knife dug wound repaired in the body shop. 

Red pain and partial death, regained and starved of breath, these

time living wounds, tattooed on my chest, are reminders that life, is

but six foot from death.

Danial Van Fleet

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