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John Destalo
Poems
Jun 2020
nails (the nine inch variety)
the drum holds
everything in place
the room
is dark
at least the
room in my
head
you donβt ask
them to enter
they donβt care
they force their
way in
and take up
residence
for as long as
they choose
and when they
finally leave
they leave
something
behind
the drum holding
everything
in place
Written by
John Destalo
55/M/Harrisburg, PA
(55/M/Harrisburg, PA)
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