Earth had salted the wound,
all those unexplored souls
put onto a field, slit down their
belly and with rocks of cold
indifferent salt filled.  With
each cube they would shriek
more and ask why they put
another, the men, or women,
in those biblical pages would
cast a wicked smile and respond:
“For Earth has made an anum,
a full ring, marrying us to time.”
One of the bodies turned and
asked “Why must it hurt so?”
The pages fell off the figures
and we could see their
pregnant guts, “So we are
not alone.” They said in unison.


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