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The Poem without a Name

This poem is a life saved by music,
Not quite a spiritual or a hymn, but a child's fistful of letters and lines that are somehow still laced with the word

This poem is a breath not yet taken,
It is a step that has not yet sunken into the ground—its roots dangle, desperate for ruddy desert sand.

This poem is fear of failure, fear of letting a metaphor melt into its fine-toothed paper skin lest it should render itself incoherent and

This poem is nameless because my
Soul was nameless before it surreptitiously slid
Into the womb of my mother

This poem is anonymous and unstable and inspired

This poem is Me


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