it’s in the word-the curve of each vowel on
your tongue & on paper.
it’s the way the words shake from my wrist &
sometimes land.
it’s the way i don’t mean what i say. it’s the way
i sweat to write. it’s the way grass prickles feet
that hover off deck.
it’s the way warmth makes prose sad & cold
may make it happy. it’s the way a bird i’ve never
seen before flies.
it’s the way i squint through sunglasses. it’s the way
i recycle to invent. it’s the way i learnt to brush
my teeth twice. it’s the way i cut, i snap, i speak.
it’s the way i can learn to say so much
just to avoid
saying anything at all
or opening sunday’s door.
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