Pretext

And so I spent the night turning 
rhymes whilst a habit 
grew and died 
the way things die 
on the side 
of a road or a mouth, 
      
and his mouth 

is thin the way words are, turning 
all the revolutions
and pulling apart a single
circumstance into constituent parts

of dirt under fingernails,
expanding the tense 
of falling 
from the rolling months 
of corrections and Sundays-




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