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GEOFF MILLER A Mountain On My Shirt my town snuggles up to a mountain a big bruiser with tenderness washed into its face it has sat on my shirt flap since birth like a paw on a mouse tail I can run this way, that way but never away never away from tightness drawn down across my chest squeezing tears that water my roots so I can live with subway chatter neon splashes on rain people racing umbrellas to trains spirituality chanting in football crowds garbage trucks compacting yesterday while my shirt stretched back decades pulls me toward home.
my town snuggles up to a mountain a big bruiser with tenderness washed into its face it has sat on my shirt flap since birth like a paw on a mouse tail I can run this way, that way but never away never away from tightness drawn down across my chest squeezing tears that water my roots so I can live with subway chatter neon splashes on rain people racing umbrellas to trains spirituality chanting in football crowds garbage trucks compacting yesterday while my shirt stretched back decades pulls me toward home.