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Famous Reporter # 33
 

 

 

                GRACE MCQUILTEN

 
          Untitled
 
This is familiar.
 
Your madness
crawls
up
the back
            of my back.
 
So I sink in ideas.
 
You are climbing
             still
the blood on your knuckles
a clumsy proof.
 
I cannot picture you.
My mind is a cluttered house.
It is not
full
of you.
Words are noise, comfort.
The stereo is broken – relief.
 
You are wordless
             fading.
 
I am home.
That is all.

 

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