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i rest on my knees

never my ass

always on concrete

never earthly 

ceiling breaks

into crystals, the color 

of tears, the texture –


should i wrap my best finger 

in gauze and call it a ghost? 

i’m counting time with boxcutter


the window oozing –

spent too much

on wine last night

for you – din of change

hits the hard floor’s ears –
everyone on it froths
from the mouth – pine

sap bleeding out –

insect birth – more 

hours, hours 

now spectral 

in child’s eye, whose empty

sky fills the same time

every day, a child’s mouth

unfurling tongue 

to taste, to harbor 

angel tears on sides of tongue –

and what are angels like,

dusk, like morning, like all
the boxes in between

 Benjamin Socolofsky

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