they bring me away from myself
and into this wandering, pulling and digging
and claiming identity
terrifying I wonder whose voice that is
what girl that is
struggling to find you inside of you

put it all to a stop, please
the good, bad, the everything
how did the time melt down so quickly
from doubles to singles, to doubles
and things go like the
that brings me out of my skin and into that ache
and cold
and sound, provoking all emotion and
sultry feeling
drenched like a sponge in the depth of her cleaning
gone, with the sound and the image that is made
from the pennies in the laundry machine,
my mother laughing,
coughs and “for god’s sakes”
and television sets, and quickly
gather your things and get away from this eerie
pull and odd attitude
inspired by sound,
sound alone

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