the string has broken
i pick up the beads
of my lifethey are dissonant
discordant
there is no harmony herewas there ever a pattern?
some have fallen
into the gratei’ll never retrieve them
they are rolling down
a long culvertit is dark here, unnavigable
i am lost
listen, the beads are rattlingpick up this one, this one
place them on the paper
one, then another. another.these words on this page.
one, then another. another.
was there ever a pattern?these poems fall through
the grate, they roll down
a long culvertthey rattle against the dark

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