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Home » Poetry » Brubaker

Code

by Anita Brubaker

Ah! the conversations.
Vocal cords' vibrations.
Your voice
threading through me
hot buttered rum in winter then.
Now
white fluoresces.
Standing, ear
on drinking
glass on wall,
I tap Morse code
.... . .-.. .-.. --- ?

A dot
     does not
vibrate,
     does it?



Copyright © Anita Brubaker 2003

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