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this poem is haunted

you sound haunted / you crawled

inside your own voice, but

the reverb made your skin 

too cold


wind is warmer / more quiet, feels 

like it’s traveling, but you’re just

a whistle vibrating through 

lazy lips 


so say it, sing it / like an arrow, 

you’re a crossbow, a guitar,

a weapon, anything made of hands,

a wound


perform / your resilience shucks

and jives, keeps your ego

from imploding, righteous 



the first time / a ghost 

clapped for you, their fingers 

were too fast, no one alive

could have kept that pace

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