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I have watched youth
slide off my bones
a thick fat, cooled
slipping off the broth
a cracked segment, slivers
then chunks, of me
gone

& where is the weather wounding me?
in the heart
in the skin
the gored gut
the marrow
where the soul lives

I’m a fresh kill
surely, my eyes haven’t grown
clouded yet
but the marble of them
is rolling
down the decline

don’t hold your breath on me

I’m still the slacker at heart
despite my blistered fingers
& my calloused hands
I’m still caked in indifference
apathy in my every stare
I’ve learned to work hard
because, life is hard
but
death is harder, an ice box,
I fight with every cathardic breath of art

I close myself down, just so I
can flower everytime you lift
the shovel
everytime, you whisper, lost cause, i resurge
like wild tide once drawn out
forcing, pulsing, rushing in
to trample down, unforgivingly

my heart stops, but really,
it’s just untraceably slow,
i’m stalling, i’m carving,
i’m listening—

i’m the shrinking violet
against the bursting rose
the trillium hidden in plain view
under the branch
under the debris of last year’s
decay, tragedy, where everything
is lost, in a waste & a weeping
& there, me and my cohorts gather
dust & decay
blooming loudly
then quietly
day after day

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