move
i keep writing you these poems
that have no words.
they sit on my tongue / expanding
in my saliva.
they are small feelings:
as soon as i inhale them i
forget their significance.
they are single words like
move or artifice
sliding
down my finger tips
i watch them fall off of me,
peeled away like the bark of white
birch trees.
i push them to the side & watch
them dissolve into white noise.
i am left with this:
i cannot write this any more
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