know how
when you hear the corner of a conversation
you only get a suggestion of words like
they'd been half formed
into the
language that came
before this one and know
how the sound can
become
anything
you turn your mind to
he's saying "alcohol"
i'm making small
talk as though
the rest of it
was big
and sometimes
it feels as though
I never learned
to write these
aren't words they're trails of ink I
can't read I'm playing pretend
there's a pain in my back where the bone used to be
there are parts of California
cloned
from New South Wales
I'm capitalizing my 'I's crossing my
't's I'm growing
responsible though
my left hand smells of salt
and cinnamon didn't I tell
you
that's the smell of a
woman
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