Biography

Self portrait of my
middle
perhaps end years

This is what I have seen.

This is what I will be.

There
just there
a plain of rippled mockery
–lambasting my white privilege

And everywhere
everywhere the aging pull of gravity

You will think you
see my blood
–and it is there–
but not where you imagine

You can see the rolling hills
I have never lain upon

Behold the artifice/artifact that
constrained me

And if you pick just the right detail:
my soul itself

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