It’s a beautiful piece of crap.
A crappy piece of beautiful.

Locked in this room, can’t move, can’t change.
Can’t grow while growing can’t stop the sun the moon

Legs getting longer
Want this want that
Not enough too much

I’m missing everything
It laughs and cries just outside this door.

I know I signed the paperwork.

I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic
about basements.

Where quakes don’t knock down and twisting wind scares us into windowless spaces.
Where there are bricks.
And bones.

Sticks and stones.

our ancestors are tired of being quiet
washed away by oceans, by gravestones,
by iphones.

what have you given up? they ask.
look what you have given up.

we’re just walking forward.
we can’t afford to be haunted
anymore. our therapists understand.
understand.

when we have given up so much for you. they say.

Sharon

I do things.

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