there's a dread in things rhythmic
the constant space between sounds
like breathing, the cycle of holding air
and letting out
there a pendulum in my chest
swinging in my rib cage in definite
banging, measured, exact
yet banging none the less
you can hear wings scraping inside bones
just the feather tips touching the rigid
gaps between intercoastal windows
yet like water drops on flat rocks
sometime between now and dinner
a wishbone snaps
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