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Drafts, Poetry

What This is Not is What

It is not “a call for help” unless
you desire it to be so, because
that’s, perhaps, the bigger picture of sorting through these boxes
I keep in my closet’s closet
too close to my liver and stomach lining. Did you remember
how I followed you home like a lost puppy? Cliche, I know,
but I cannot describe that moment without
losing myself in that moment. Do you understand?
It is far past daybreak. I’m ready to drive anywhere
that isn’t here. Are you here? Are you ready to go?


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