I’ll stop
talking about everything
I’ve lost. Soon.
I forget about
January,
the way my
gut lurches around
inside of it
empty
wanting to
be filled,
the way it stands
me up in spirit,
I keep coming
full force
with nothing
more to show,
the way I clamber
to fill myself,
meet myself
places I shouldn’t go,
the lake on
cold dark afternoons,
houses where
the fire’s lit for different guests.
I’ll become silent.
For once not wanting
to be beautiful,
just clear.
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