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from “47 Poems”

How a cow femur seems like
it could belong to anyone
This eye, pressed through a sieve
could be sour cream
And this map key doesn’t make sense!
It’s measured in follicles
of an elephant’s eyelash. It’s thicker
than my pubes, sure,
but even Montana’s still thousands
across. (And I walked them
one by one by) wake, cheek pressed
sweaty into asphalt. Gritty
and hot. Cars inch by and I
didn’t call my dad on Father’s Day.
Posted 07/23/13
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