Think about the way eyes reap

expectations when you blink, reckless,
shards of glass from another
century, fresh in antiquation,
the torchbearer extinguishing
frames, and you can’t

purge this stomach of animals,
they won’t stop clawing–loops and leagues
underground, tangling a nation in hope
all below the heart, fool’s gold

someone who has nowhere better
to swim: never stop mailing letters
loose with irish tea and the post-it’s
you dreamt at midnight, all tortured
and waning as the moon.


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