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In the Movie of My Unraveling Mind


The forest opens wide then closes once 
I’m inside and looking up. 

Blue traces the tree line’s nothing 
above it. The question—Is the sky really 

that color?—comes crashing in as it did 
on a ledge below which a lake made 

figure eights around rocks as I sat 
next to someone who said I was not 

his original idea of beauty, but something. 
Something he couldn’t quite 

put his hands on. Bare neck, shoulders, 
legs, all static, all waiting for action 

to be taken, as in rehearsing for a play 
that opens with a weapon at rest

on the mantel. The gun represents 
the fact that whatever’s on stage 

must be used by the end of act three, 
scene something. And yet, there we were.

Neither of us would ever see the other
again except in that film that never ends. 



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