The invitation to speak
Is not felt
Hands
Curling in on themselves
And Up
The dagger
The past
Fiction
Myth
Returning from the moment
Stabbed and slicked
On to the canvas
I have no
Place here
In the stillness
Of this moment
Jewelry
Hanging loose
Clothing
Already ripped
Dagger
Not fallen
Eyes
Refusing to break
Their hold
On fate
The subject
Not written in
To the title
The woman thinks
I hear nothing
Joe Howse
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