Invention 9
what do I miss?
my face in the mirror
before I knew it
the step
before I took it
or
the age
that died
to spit me out
and stretch like a flattened iron
across rivers and plains
poked by mountains threaded by deserts
held together
knifed apart
and all to know
what’s born and birthed
cold sped on to me
to hold to me
cached in my wordless expanse
another tickle
to haunt me
cold unburdened
what's known is never true
and true rains hard on the known
till we are sheltered dry
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