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Jun 2015
I’ve filled the emptiest spaces of myself with

                          the best parts of you

not breathing, warm like an homage
but sterile

a gallery of looped memories
beautiful and untouchable
and convincingly bright
so that no matter where I am
my retinas are tattooed with the space you took in the world
cooking in a scratchy sweater- your electric rants about Jung  
drumming jazz on the street corner for the pay of odd conversation
planting kisses in my hands because you hoped they would grow a wife
endlessly reminding me

                                              (from wherever you are now)

that the best things in life weren’t free
and though expensive beyond measure
how graceful- I hardly noticed how much
I was willing to give
just to keep at a quiet distance

                           this neuronal gallery
I'm over it.
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