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is a tender fleck of clay
from your boot to my bare foot
to a supermarket uniform waltz
to a community

small eager hurricanes
beautiful stuttering books
percussive spiderwebs
as shawls
unto one illustrative monster

I am what sleepwalking must feel like
when one is made of string
I am the weight of an eyesore
the pride of a shore without a coast

I am the southern anchor to a northern ship
the sag of an endless self
the chains who grow stronger every year

January, 2014

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