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The subject: forgotten rituals,
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how in shirtsleeves
I carried the kitchen trash through brittle snow
and lit it,
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expectant,
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knowing the coldâs first shudder
would shrink my crotch
and start intestinal spasms,
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how then the wait for crumbled cinders to darken
would suggest shapes
outside the circle of fire
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and I must run for the doorway
or lose to wolves.