What’s gone is gone in the
corners of your rigid blood.
You will not give an answer to the heaving cries,
the rapid and brainless questions of Fate.
You learned the hard way;
that pregnant mongrel with a foaming snout-
taught you to take breath and eat the scraps.
She chews your pillows and leave stained circles on light parts.
You are in the shower washing your neck
and it hits you.
That song, the odor- the finely tuned whining of objects
you are without.
Dust waiting to be gathered in the crease.

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