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If I texted you today it would
be a cartoon trying to burn
its eyes by staring into
an exit sign, its face tight
against the top of a door wondering
about carpe diem and why would
I want to leave this.

Its back warm, still pointed
at the things it could leave but
could never leave
its arms pointed
at the things  dropped—
the dander and lost
things that did not
belong to us anyway

so how could you lose it

Those crimes carried
on our feet or those
other parts we can never
keep dry but somehow
we keep them in our prayers
which go like this:

Take these and these
and these and don’t!

We ask each other
about finding profiles
and @@@
and we keep scratching
at whatever is
keeping us from bursting
into our smallest parts
when we leave
our houses in the morning 
Posted 01/19/11
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