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Splinter Static

I sit in the second seat of a borrowed car on the chosen street we once made holy with laughter and lips. I watch the asphalt bear faults as the dandelions give their painted seedlings to a stranger wind. You, sit too. I listen to the clicks and hisses of your breaths, enunciated and punctuated. You pause. I think I can hear the chatter of neurons, certain they aren’t mine, for I cannot understand their reluctant projections. You must know, as you pause to explain, “I feel alone when I’m with you”. My paper lungs remind me twice, I don’t remember how to bre





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