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Like loose change in a muddy coffin,

by Matthew Zangen

we hold God in our mouths
but we don't speak often.

Our tongues are knots
scraping the bars of our teeth
where our memories can't sleep.

They would break out
so we push them down deep,
in the throat, to choke.

We believe we can't breathe.

If you swallow harder
you can hide it.
Make a box of bone,
put your dreams inside it.

Never let them out.
Keep it secret.
Let your stomach fight it.


Posted on 03/17/2014
Copyright © 2020 Matthew Zangen

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