I’ve been having trouble eating.
Maybe its because we are out of food
and I ought to go grocery shopping.
Or maybe its because I have found
these guitar strings taut against my insides.
Pop songs on the radio, clichés and recollections pluck them.
Words spoken by mouths, shadows around sunset,
and places I have been before strum them.
Unfamiliar tones, timbres hum against my bones,
reverberate in the hollows of my heart and stomach,
echo in my muscles and sinews.
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