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Thomas Piekarski


I’m a wholly-owned subsidiary

of myself, watching October winds

multiply little folk that live

as we the people inside sunshine.


My body inflates; the mind retracts,

spools backwards into its cocoon.

Halloween a ways off, yet already

it snows on prairies buffalo roamed.


I retrace the tracks I made

when but a bumbling babe,

and morph into a pangolin

then return as man again.


The genie stuffed back in its bottle

has nothing of importance to add.

The closer to any answer I inch

the faster away my question flees.

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