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I, too, stumbled with Raskolnikov
hatted in the dusty street
the sun’s eternity hanging
like an accusation in my pupils
and cursed the oppressors of the people,
and cursed the people, oppressed.
Rapist drunks loll
In their vintages in the ditches.
The money lend who opened the door
- I was her, too
- as the ax split
open my head.
Last thought: don’t kill, mister
My crippled sister hiding in the closet
- my wounded eternity, my bled and fled identity
absorbed entirely in
this impotent flash.
- Karen Chamisso
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