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To Make Sense: Short Poetry Collection

Sometimes I try to make sense of the thing I have no eyes for love No hands for touch No ears for understanding What do I have and why do I have it?

I rummage through the ancient city Fighting relentless sandstorms Fighting advancing civilization They don’t fight back I keep the land barren Just so I can make sense of the land

You want to disintegrate But I interrogate the dust Until it forms your shape again and again

Why do I have it? And why can’t I give it away? I keep the land barren Still as a tombstone The rock of an age

From your fallen fingernail I create you I ask her everything And let you exist in a world in which I don’t And never did Like an image in a cloud My shape forgotten and altered with a steady blow

I know my pantry is empty But I open up the doors Every morning, 10 fingers, two handles An empty can would make me happy

Why can’t I give it away? And where can it be buried? No tombs have capacity For the life that I imagine Where everything makes sense Even though it doesn’t




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