on neighboring constellations
and faraway a strangled woman
who is singing beautifully
a little dream of me
a siren is coming for us both
longer lines scare me with
cruel threats of corpulent prose
five words forward and
I have to turn from breathing
to morning rounding the corner
in this darkening panicking poem
it’s not the body I worry about
which is always being demolished
and then restored under different
contractors differing conditions
but if my soul
shall die as well
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