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Post-It Note Voicemail

Express

Time isn’t anything

what i know is this,

i wake up

and there are things to be done

and somehow,

somehow,


Tender

Vine is an entry

crawling and predicting

i anticipate

that climbing

is witnessing myself.


Baggage

Find

me

ahead on the tracks

know i

am there

know the shape of my back,


Pullman sleeper

or strain to see

my face as it were.


Dining

Though i had missed her,

do you think she saw me as she looked to

the earth below?

will i be made of her memory

when she thrashed a shadow onto 30%

of Los Angeles

at 11:23 am?


I am running and

calling after you.


I can only hear

emptied traces or

my own message left on the

line,

singing

back.

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