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We're moving house— he takes you a- Part, piece by piece, picking, pulling, long thin Steel supports from your joints. He holds you together,           unforgiving tenderness in steel arms as you crumple into a           pile of wood. It's done— he waves a ***** Driver, drilling in reverse, you watch him work Metal out from your bones, skeleton scattering limbs about the           floor, which he meticulously collects and arranges, good as           new, unassembled. Thanks for the help, you've been——it's alright, see you soon. Next time, I'll take the bed. We're moving house— you are driven a- Round, missing a turn, new place, unfamiliar Sights you do not see, your eyes on the frame in the back (of           your mind) as the van stops and your bare bones unload onto a trolley. It's done— you pay a hundred in two fif- Ties, broken like the bed tugged through the new Doorway and left in the living room, with the parts laid out           neatly beside on cold marble, readied for examination and           elimination, remnants           of a time past— When, can you collect your——next week at the earliest, evening, Wednesday. I'll bring a van.
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Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 4:35 AM UTC
Ending Parted Ways
We're moving house— he takes you a- Part, piece by piece, picking, pulling, long thin Steel supports from your joints. He holds you together,           unforgiving tenderness in steel arms as you crumple into a           pile of wood. It's done— he waves a ***** Driver, drilling in reverse, you watch him work Metal out from your bones, skeleton scattering limbs about the           floor, which he meticulously collects and arranges, good as           new, unassembled. Thanks for the help, you've been——it's alright, see you soon. Next time, I'll take the bed. We're moving house— you are driven a- Round, missing a turn, new place, unfamiliar Sights you do not see, your eyes on the frame in the back (of           your mind) as the van stops and your bare bones unload onto a trolley. It's done— you pay a hundred in two fif- Ties, broken like the bed tugged through the new Doorway and left in the living room, with the parts laid out           neatly beside on cold marble, readied for examination and           elimination, remnants           of a time past— When, can you collect your——next week at the earliest, evening, Wednesday. I'll bring a van.
Punctuation tweaks 2025. Original note: This is one of the first poems I wrote a few years back, one of my favourites really. It was a bit of an experiment with prose-poetry, mostly, it was a lot of fun to write.
ryun
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Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 4:35 AM UTC
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