driving home

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my shadow scared me
but the stars felt nice,
a bird flew out of nowhere
through city twilight.
these are just some facts
maybe you could use, or not,
as you formulate
your assessment of me.
i drove past the hospital
and started to cry;
all the feathers
were ripped from my breast
by the simple act
of weeping under the weight
of that monument– at least
i believe you’d understand the
messy tears and sense of coming
apart.
then perhaps you could help
explain to me why
driving home can so much
seem sometimes like
driving away.

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