And I find at long last
the days taste of black licorice and
camphorous witch hazel
scrunched over my heart,
and ground-in dirt and gritty green and gummy pain
crust thick and stale over its surface.
I pull my brown drab blanket closer
and cling to clotted adhesions
of inner and outer worlds in collision.
Cornered, walls of the past and the future
hem me in. Raw, bleeding tears
where I seek to
strip away small comforts
but only tear pieces of me
off with them.
and how deep runs the river,
how cold the current
how silent the stream.
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