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In sleep voices fall upon me once againwith bladed-tongues that run against their teeth.The voices' chorus a grind of bone sawsand caliper-fingers that force openmy mouth to let loose words. Thousands of wordsbled from tongue, from lips. And the words they pourout until the very air tastes sourwith alkaline spit. The voices' laughteris cicadic, perpetual, constant.The voices fall upon me once againwith sanded-lips raised in snarls. They are bentto suck the spirit into the openair where it will feel the growing blacknessof light, where it will do what it is asked.
Mohd Yaseen Rather (Mon,) studied this question.
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