lined up

lines and strings and threads
make bread – food for thought
i push another plate of it
inside my head, i ought
to have known, nothing
can be done with old
brittle bones, i’ll put them
away and accept your
long gone, far away –
i look into
lines and strings and threads
of words and instruments and blankets for
solace when i feel
out of line, look strung out, or feel dead

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