8.v.22
855
3.128
hiding place
in a poem
was always the best place to hide
what I heard
what I felt
what I saw
plain sight made song
that’s who we are
and spin like tops
jack up the box
dust off
pull up socks
you have to wish your way in here
make a best guess
count up past hundreds
no one comes looking
closets and cupboards
such pockets!
they leak
one might seep out
there are forests
cities, trickle on
or keep the faith
pretend the paper wall
sink
swim
in the well
no one will ever find me
in the poem
where I’ve gone
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