{10 May 2017}

I feel the ghosts of poems unwritten in my mouth.
The man on the side of the road reading his texts;
The pink toilet in the ditch;
The girl cartwheeling on the field;
The theft of a home;
The spiced tea in a mug;
The outstretched legs on a blanket;
The blinking brake lights;
This time;
This life.
Here they are – just for you,
Brought out of their dark home.

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