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jennifer steinfeldt  warren

June 15, 2004 at 12:16 AM

hands fold over

each dust
stemming, blinking
i watch as i
melt down my chest
suspended the light
drinking though the glass
holds it
with hands of hilt
too timidly like it is
tinderstick porcelain ash
with contact will dissipate
fold into gray paste

if i am tearing
if my ducts flush out
the dirt i hold in my gut
where the melting stops abrupt
my face lies (there is no truth
in this song)
there is no pulse
ripping through my tendons
flowing across gut

where i left myself standing
alone on the stage
i laugh at how dumb
my expression
how fear is written in my
the music lost somewhere
between me
why i can’t hear it,
i don’t know
the dust forcing itself
raping my performance of

stealing the paint
i was using to make life beautiful
at least here
i call her
to terms only she can

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