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that neck
encircled by big dumb
could break
like a toothpick

the flat wooden
ones accidentally left
on floors that
stab like daggers
the flesh of soles

that neck
like a cob of corn
could have broke
in half
between those two
wide hating hands

a snapshot of a neck
and a head
sometimes kissed
and cherished
now swallowing
its own forced out

honey, where are
you now? do you speak
this language?
the photo left
out of the album

the album of silence
the story behind
how was your day
and small talk

that neck was human
and now
that neck is damaged
but not broken

a trip