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The Eyes of Keyholes
TYPESETTER
I have all the words, in all their nuances,
but there is nothing to speak anymore.
It’s clear I’m in pitch darkness, the only
light - the eyes of keyholes. It’s unclear
which side the precipices are on.
I have all the keys, I keep them in coded
safes. But I find it harder and harder to love:
there is no one to open them to anymore.
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