here it is – the suppressed hurling,

pounding sadness; from the soft

parts of my body – shallow nooks,

entrenched openings – out of myself.

at the curve of a stranger’s doorway –

sloping spines, bent into the corner

of a tidy hallway; a common coridoor

occupied by passing shadows, an

occasional ghost – fleeting and

wandering; their visibility shy from

the bright light; encapsulating little

of their detail, instead absorbing

their bodily geometry –

transparent; fluid like

streaming rapids.



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