Carleen Tibbetts

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SHAME MAKES ALL THE WARM SOUNDS

i tried to philosophize rupture, but it soured at the initial bite
i tried stub out the coda like a cigarette, but it took me by the hair and
dragged me through the streets

i made my body a comma
i voltaged in slow motion

shame guilt-plumes, makes all the warm sounds, takes shape in the dark

when i’m dead, do not allow yourself to heal completely
when i’m dead, write forgery on my bones and confront the loneliest of truths

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I WILL NOT ASK YOU FOR YOUR HISTORY

here is the part that gives me trouble:
we put our lips to another’s ear and blow
a relaxed way to endure loneliness

pull the pin on the ____ grenade
of people who get to lose themselves

we witness the unbearable purity of our arms
flowering in the small hours
on the on chance that this system kills us as its guests

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