So there’s this sidewalk corner
that I never can move around

Is not your goal in life
to find something to do with your hands?

What if we fell like flower petals
Instead of this stone scrape plummet thing
that keeps on happening

I was never one to drift

It’s been said that each air molecule
folds itself into oblivion
once it’s left your lungs
as though you are the only puzzle frame
perfect enough

Or maybe I dreamed that

I have dreamt
about writing poems
(once I even woke up
at 3:46 or something
one comparison on repeat
and I fell back asleep;
the next morning, it was still there.
At lunch, I wrote it down.)


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