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Because my brain is like a box, the primary elopement.
what I put in there is important,

the cadences of strangled vines, tree-sky vocals.

I’m sure you’re burdened with that too
all those incisions,

meaningful abrasions everyone’s looking after.

This box is carved with teeth, apostrophes
to dignities gently masticated down

into bank notes, suffrage and quality
observations. Look at me, ma, I’m so damned

shapely, mitered, honed to the touch
and square with the escape plans.