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Poetry

The Past is a Form of Dismemberment

by a.h.s. boy


When I go to sleep at night my mind
hides parts of my body
in different rooms of the house
so I wake up in the morning 
wondering where I am
and how to go about finding myself
Sometimes I decide to do without
an arm or a spine and once
I just left my head
hidden in a box of old letters
on the top shelf
of the bedroom closet
because I never look there

 

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