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January 9, 2011
I left you, cherished sense of self for
a month or two
vacationed on top of grizzly mountains
fake, polyester snow tumbling down
avalanched me back here to the truth.

Truth—
real and cold, beautiful and
elusive to the needy pale hand
when I paw at it, my digits sail through
as fleshy masts,
the ship coming home through the fog.





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