There is an empty space here
Between the pages and my fingers
Gone deaf
Gone silent
Gone bone dry
Pressing my eyelids for memory
I enumerate our mistakes
With less than agile reflexes
this fractured history is told in supple scars
They lay on the wall like brail
And we read them together
Two fools volunteering for blindness
Playing for single notes
And our feet like tambourines
On side streets in gutter puddles
Clapping in time and out.
Singing into this empty bowl
We listen for
its hollow
ceramic howl
like a song playing on obsolete vinyl
Scratching,
whining
and warm
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