Jump on it, Brian

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What’s written down
In the book of my blood?
Stunted, muted stories
Alive like a twitch
At an approaching hand
Or a sigh released when a thirst is slaked.
Unmemorable narratives.
Manifest depressions.
Sad stories collapsing like a coal mine
Or kissing the cheek like a
Grandma’s leathery hands
Halved, chopped up, divided away.

I’m no good with scripture
And verse and what begins
With the word ends with the tongue
Lolling in silence.

(Maybe that’s why I get lost
In books afraid to get out
Afraid of their ending?
That someone will figure it out?
50 years of my life
Thinking…thinking!)

In a twisted way to
Make the world work –

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