my poem
standing on top of ten thousand poems
written under ten thousand poems
by every poet that ever lived
each a handhold on the precipice of thought
all their words are pitons on the climb up
way up into the rarefied the air
talk me down from here i am afraid of heights
paginate the etymology of these thoughts of mine
you know them better than me
the transmutation is almost complete
my heart misses a beat
down here in the library i am shelved in dust
run your fingers down my spine
that is so nice
now turn my page
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