The Past is a Form of Dismemberment
Published in Everyone's a fucking poet! 1995
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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