For having felt your fixing.
In a mixed up way
The bruise is a reminder.
You were always so good at that;
Breaking things
In the process of mending them.
In losing and not minding.
Help me remember
How to remind you.
Nighttime is both
Beautiful
And treacherously hind-legged.
A dystopia we wish for
On the backs of tossed coins.
The coming year will be.
A waiting mortuary.
And then it will multiply.
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