I’m not here

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I’m not here
but here unfurls my broken heart
I pass the ghost of Joseph Campbell
who walks around the mall
on his daily stroll
and I think about justice
or accepting none
I pull my turn signal
and find my spot
This country lies
and takes the best I’ve got
so on I go, alone, apart

I think of her
the one I loved
the only one
but now she’s gone
a wall erected now between us
taunts the lovers on each side
this poem wasn’t supposed to be about her
but here I am
within my weathered sphere
a lonely, calloused queer
who rests down on her knees
to pray the prayer
an ode to she

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