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Do you know what it’s like when a body twice yours
holds you down in the room where you make your life
until you wouldn’t know how to move even if he wasn’t
holding you down and then he splits you further open
and the world before
had been filled with its usual losses and rages not this
what is this do you know
what it’s like when you live just one door away and every
time you have to step outside, well no, he’s not there,
not now, but he could be and the dread is
everything for years
even when sometimes there is whisky and sometimes
there is joy, there is dread in the ficus tree on the landing
and dread in the weather-beaten flag by the garage
and dread in the cash inside the mattresses that are always
moving in and out
of the building next door and what if people call you
corny because you still hold onto details like all the gray
kitten posters on the gray walls of every quakeproof hospital
you were sent to to escape the dread and yet
even when they pumped you full of drugs and even when
they dried you out of them, there was always dread
and you were
and you will be
nose down in every room
in which you try to make your life?
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