Five Poems

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I don’t have a story. Take the blue thread

and the red thread. Here is the vanishing point. Take

the yellow thread and the white thread

and the black thread. Braid them into a road.

I don’t have a story, I have a road.

I grew up. There’s nothing to say. The dogs were barking

up and down the street. The lights turned on when it got dark.

I touched the switch when I got home so I wouldn’t trip.

Most people will tell you they have a novel

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