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I am wooden



I am wooden, but not hollow
like the chipped house that you sleep in

I am hardened, but not brittle
like the plastic plate from which you sup

I am sickened, but not dying
like flowers on your mantle, trembling
at the darkness of the hole in the side of your gut


I am banal, but not token
like the smoke in your mouth
and the air in your lungs


I am quiet, but not unheard
like the plea of your guilt
and the sorrow in your heart

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