“This how-to stuff isn’t in any history book.”

The way I speak is marbled
like the archaic language
of an idea
that nobody ever speaks of

Like an abstract artist
painting reality
exactly how it is:
but understood
as an infant on canvas.

We are the distance of ourselves
trying instantly to re-arrange
what we’ve been taught to repeat,
until what we understand
is hidden underneath
our breath.

Our death is the only way
to keep us from our silence.

My words are silent,
but you hear them,
though you can’t teach a stranger
how to become your friend.

The hardest part of growing up
is learning to abandon
your parents taught you
as a child

in order to claim


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