My fellow bloggers, I return to you. Expect me to read what you write as often as I used to check Facebook, since I have deactivated my profile.
Flesh me out
Would people know
if you were sitting next to me?
The eyes surrounding me at this coffee shop,
would all eyes string to you and weave
a quilt, pitched like a tent, draping
from your very presence, art
greater than anything my grandmother has made.
Or,
would people know
nothing of what we speak.
Our cairn stacked word by word.
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