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Craig Kirchner

The only memory is alone.
Others pass under
the window,
hats, tops of heads,
wandering waves
against black asphalt,
come but mostly go
and never stop.

The skyline is cardboard,
will be removed.
Shops across the way
doused by traumaed
traffic lights, bounce
on bedroom walls,
wet pillow cases,
choke, soak blind.

Furniture lacquers
skin-dead hands,
bile-smeared sweat
a satin gray.
Mirrors stare back,
shrivel sugar brown
matted hairs drawn
close as dying clover.

Muscles taut, fetal
ricket with adrenaline,
forget the tell -
nothing is true
but the vigil -
choose with relish
not to sleep,
but are human.

The collecting filth,
a shrinking room,
dust moved by
melting walls -
thick parched rust
in heavy rain,
exiting sediment,
seeks sifted rest.

This is what he is,
total freedom,
synapses suspended,
shattered, snapped,
breaths released,
never missed,
soul sought tangents
never gained.

Craig Kirchner

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