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A Poem

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Flesh made into rock
a stony glance to the skies
as if blue or grey is just inappropriate
for reanimation
for the recurrence of the change
that slaps you silly
It’s the undermining thing
it takes all of the turns to decimate
and reduce
the simple forts of reticence
becoming its own magic explanation
Flesh made into words
a touching, grasping thing
hesitant and graceful, sticking around
long after closing time
The phone rings a herald…



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