Trapped in notebooks
another version of me
barely alive
between the pages
my thoughts won’t stay contained
loud, I herd the weedwackers through the city
Houses ruined in its sweep
shaken loose by echoes
rolling through the plaster
Every kitchen jar
switched labels overnight
Basil goes black in the wrong jar
I scrape it into the trash
keeping the stems
I feel the earth’s temperature
with my fingertips
Dandelions and ragweed
invade faster than I can pluck
I dream of a cocoon enclosing
I dream of a clicking revolver
that won’t stop
Nothing remembers me back
I find goatheads
thistle, hooks and horns
in the soles
of my feet
That paragraph
dead on the kitchen floor,
and me on my knees
in the garden
sirens cycling
through the blocks
I wield memory like a three-pronged
hand cultivator, metal and light
I'll reconstruct your face, recite it
and name you whatever I want.
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