We peel back skin’s layers
as if caressing a book’s
tissue thin pages,
each bit of viscera
detailed.
I tell a story
to make myself whole—
so many revisions to go.
In corners,
the old murmur softly,
placing the past
back into an order
extent only in dream,
which none of the young
care to hear.
(May 8, 2018)
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