Number 28 – Christine Tran
3 May 2009
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pitched shelters of culture jamming
music carries in the breeze
bare feet walk nude with ease on
spring-born grass. the sun, it pulses
my skin, beats my skin, beats my skin.
light air tickles the fresh leaves,
tickles the breeze.
arched trees bend their joints,
grow freely. how many years? how many rings?
you tell me.
am i naked?
or am i nude?
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