we woke to the sound of our breath,
the first lie, crying for the comfort of the womb sea, biologically aware of loss.
the bloodied sheets are stripped, wrapped up in us, making ghost trails held up by pencil shavings, tools no longer used, gathered and ground down.
pardon the illuminated from circus clown coined phrases, awash in memes, speaking posted news fast foods, over-calculated careers in ownership.
give us this day of bread, that's yeast still rises, and saves us from ourselves.
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