i bet this place is a bone silent whistling
under stars, the vowels of time, a constant
we made it this far but not very far from where we started
from up there, the horizon is a tone less
like i sd, we’re going the wrong way driving away from it
every poem is a trying to steal, i let you wheel
turned up, i ask what i can of you
if i show you this childhood, what does it seem
neighborhood drowned but my memory sharps against
i was hungry so long in this life
held inside, does love become a burden
blunt mouthed to stop speech, the corners of this living
fold down, i do and do not see you clearly
when you say i know more people who’ve died
who wins that standing, there were more photographs
than hours and more ways to never say what we mean
if we could just stay driving and never arrive, if we could
umbrella softest bits, struck match tip, it was this need inside
me to choose burning over ever just making it home
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