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February 2, 2005 - A poem about Flesh & Bone


my body is distinct from my mind.
Like a distant robot operating
on boot sector instinct.
There I am, stretching for a drink,
but thinking not of reach or grip
just seeing glass and wine.
Or then, I’m keying the lock
but thinking of home inside
not oiled parts and traffic grime.

Odd that.


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