You lift up out of a deep otherwhere, shift
in your seat and murmur disappointment that I ask
what you may vaguely understand
(your fluency withholding)

Most of time I spend fostering subtraction
of your self-doubt, little is left
for smoothing various
among the edges of chafed angles

Angelic toward you if you thought
to ask back, I hold little
hope, Merely retract the question,
and I make a map to guide me from

Detention, this dismissal, this
erasure of my heart, from which I fashion
aspiration, thinking it might cure
the present tense.


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