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My Poetry

After Roma

After Roma

there is none

and there is mine

double space tapping

double space and double spirit
like stepping across a plank of bones
or wondering what’s around the next curl of branch

I sit and mimic the bed sheet thinking
of the noises I will not be making
and the people I will not be suffering
with

roma
though she hated my words
still the same
a chance
and the gambit on fire

a theory
dispels
or fades
or tries
but does not triumph

so I clutch my jaws
in my hands
and shake without sleep

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