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A parley exists between pain and water

My liver straggles spirits drawn from spell liquid,
till there’s a lucid grumbling to compel liquid.

That fabric of hurt with its tongue-tied old language
“Drunk”— to fall– to the abyss of pastel liquid

A ship that carries its cloud along with hailstorm
can remember how to never repel liquid.

The bottle holds more stories after it is kissed
to send into the cortex, the bowel; liquid

while the seas throw her hands to welcome rack and woe,
the tavern opens her mouth to resell liquid.

Ruddapoet

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