Sack o’ Shells

hope’s the itch between
my throat and ear
canal that can’t
be scratched,

by any healthy means,
i meant

and she’s the dawn
that hatched too early,

then crawled back into
gloom’s cocoon,

but she’s since gathered remnant
shards of all her former

and hauls them now in
bulging sack,

straddling her sloped spine,
nestled nice between
time’s cracks,

too far from home
to ever blink at
falling back



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