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Non-Sonnet For Traipsing Around

Betsy Wheeler

The path starts wherever.
Every time I open my eyes I see.

Darkness bends around my wrists, so I
count the tones ringing in my ears or bird cries.
At night, I wrap my arms around my head &

wrangle verbs to save the prairie dogs out there.
This trail I’ve set myself on—I couldn’t.

I wonder about the length of the family vein.
My cousin has a Wurlitzer.

Light in the corners of my eyes.
These arms. I have flashing points.
I have so much love for whomever.

Betsy Wheeler

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