I Could Apologize But Who Has The Time Anymore?

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When I am keeping-I am empty.
Carrying the invisible weight
Of spoken words. Because what’s invisible
Is mine. And mine is as empty as a pronoun.

When I learned to count,
I used a ponderous breath
To anchor time.

When I learned to orgasm
I lied.

Always mine.

I ought to apologize more.
And maintain a vague sincerity.
Somewhere
I can crawl
In and out
Of.
Like a sin committed after confession
I want to be whole again.

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