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Poetry

Sweat

Sweat

1.

To be fair

(the nervousness)

it was mostly sweat. That cold, wet film

obscuring eyes drawing volumes of fallow sentiment obscuring face hands name.

But mostly, the molecules just spinning, just waiting for their chance

to enter into the dance of hello how have you been? with no regard

for what they are or are not.

And below, the streets not stone not dirt, but something

straddling each other as if they, too, had been confused.

One cannot say for certain where they now stand.

When you stand you sit you wait you breathe you walk you cease speaking you become without shadow without substance just sweat and sweat and sweat.

2.

Where you walk you no longer walk. Where you speak

you no longer utter sounds. How does one remember how to act all the time?

And what happens

between the opening of your throat

and the sound that escapes?

As if things were no longer things, as if they no longer held their own names.

There are always questions, yes.

but scalded you cannot ask you cannot speak you cannot do

but sweat and sweat and sweat.

3.

If a dream

and you woke upon a broken street.

And the people, weaving, walked in circles and gathered in groups and broke and became small parts of little things.

4.

You close your eyes and imagine:

you and you upon a bridge, it is late at night

and neither of you wish to meet the other’s eye.

“Just burn them, just do it just stoke the flame higher just melt the sweat just coax the sweat just keep the flames flying”.

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