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A Poem by Joshua Marie Wilkinson

The Lost Words
for Peter Gizzi

Lost words are lost girls
too close to the volcano
ash & what loose fire
what dormant birds
are here to fold us
into our little beds
come evening.

A dream’s a strange spectator.

A blind dog in the street
sniffing the asphalt for its
so-called owner.

Don’t fuck with the magic
of gravity, unless you’re
going to get undressed.

Unless you’re going to reveal
something to us
about how longing stagnates
in the blood.

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