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Jan 152014
 

by John McKernan

 

Was carpeted

And

 

Crawling

With

Shadows

 

Inside

Each shadow

A canister

Of carbon black

 

To be smear-painted

On the walls

Where windows

With chrome bolts

Might have been

 

Outside

A glove with my name

In the shape of a fist

Kept blessing the silence

Its fingers

Knocking to enter