I
quote my own silence in an effort to explain what folds
around
these hands. there has been different skin, collapsed like a mortuary
shroud,
the thinnest breath of shelter floating in the fluorescent air.
the
hardening lines of earthworms
dead
on the concrete borders. It was an easy lie
to
follow, washed away from the dark to wither in the slackening flow.
I
have been in the choir, mouth formed around pennies
others
threw. breath expelled in four counts, staggering
through
the false harmony.
way
over the line a dead coyote waits by the interstate for
a
new hunger to consume it. I leave a fortune cookie
in
case there is anything appropriate
.
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