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Christi Kramer

The fifth element: alley Young boy running from the devil, or cobble, hop.  In his story, 

            she never understood alley. 

Where her birth and running were all trees. Climbing vertical, root even, though down.

Then someone said Beloved and she knew: the object of the alley.

Enter seller, basket weaver.

Since we are all invited, let us move to alley.  Call out, shall we: watermelon, onion, milk.

You see that weaver, he returns to the same window each night.  Sometimes fifty cents mean I love you. The tarry, please, light your lamp.

If we begin to do the work of alley: we all become light.

So, if in the alley, and you see a caged creature, offer key. And drink

Sit then:  cup unwashed, alloy of yansoon and mint.

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