"You are a stranger of two exiles
so take me like a thirsty bee
and hold me in the inbetween world."
Our/Their words mingle and detach
like the distance and embrace of boxers.
You/I've always been here/there,
on solid ground, in August density,
in sinking sand, in white night,
my/your face illuminated by explosives
or the red flashing of fighter planes
like boxing gloves, slowly soaring through
the night sky, here/there, searching
for a jawbone to break.
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