I burn the door off my closet
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Sweeping up the ashes
I glance at the wall
I have a long piece of paper; tacked to it are various pictures of my friends and I. I stop
to pull it off.
There's me, there's me (keep keep)
not me, who is that? (toss toss)
But I keep them all anyway.
They represent the corssing of two "me"s
the awkward intermediate stage.
I can look at them and know
What I was thinking then,
and I was wondering
how long it takes for wood to burn