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I’m getting better at alone.

Better at the time in between

you and me.

I fill it up

with the wrecked grace of drunken dancing.

I fill it up

with the scritch scratch of scrubbing canvas.

I fill me up

with the singsong soulful squawking of a sympathetic siren wanting to be more.

I do words,

in every possible way,

in every waking hour of my days.

I do words,

in my dreams.

I’m getting better at alone.

Better at the time in between

you and me.

I’m getting better at alone.

Better at the time in between.

 

I fill it up with me.

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