• Axle


    So the birds whistle, so the gurney
    wheels you away from people saying
    what you expect, the lines
    amassed, the sparkle of fisherfolk
    upon the sea, lockers of
    construction sites, rolling you to
    the machine—your machine—if

    anything is anyone’s for the holding, then
    it’s how this breaks apart, like

    the cells of your youth, like bread.


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