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Cobolt [Ten Poems]
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c o l l a r b o n e m a x i l l a r :
here is your
x-ray
try to catch something in tired eyes, under the flesh
are blood vessels, tissues, something happens there,
the soul is found in the fingertips, and for the lucky ones
it nestles into lungs
– when you told me this I didn’t want
to let you go anymore, but to smoke together
and age.