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Left to Your Own Devices | A Poem by James Diaz

Crepuscular furrow
jaeger tailing infinitely
over deep white
hallowed as
sorrows’ trail
empty handed and fantastically
fated, your error is every word
ever spoken
your defect is not your fault
things here do not grow as they should
the bone pushes around at the edges of your skin
when you were young
you learned how to chew their words
without digesting
now you are all hollow space
from stomach
to heart
and cannot be reached by phone
lungs storing water
no near by hands to pull you out
as close to the bottom as you can get
as near the sorrow as you can possibly stand.


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