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handsome
it looks like every branch stretched across the fence has a noose hanging off it but it's just shadows heavy leaves looping slim twigs under their weight we sit in the courtyard sipping spirits from tin lids listening to aunties gossip about whether his head has been embalmed like their long dead palangi husbands should one of us say something say he was so young say don’t talk about his head he’s upstairs not even buried yet say let’s talk about his heart and whether that was embalmed say he should be down here with us sipping spirits at your funerals
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