Find your


worn space

inches deep

until your feet

and head

are shrouded

and they can’t

find you

to ask about 

the milk,

or the long lost


or their uncle

who is ringing

the doorbell.

Your lungs

will consume 

such shadow

and remind

you of the time

you were slave to it,

when the light was 

a momentary thing

but mostly

for people

who loved

to dance.

Get Wordy

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