right hand pointing

   

 

 
  Brooklyn Copeland

Dreams in Which I Confront You



Dear casual dabbler,
I wonder
what would happen

(if that dime-store bundle of raffia,
burlap and face paint

that you casually made my namesake,

shook out all its pins,
slipped through the crack in your sock drawer,

and made a few casual calls)

to your body.

 
`

 

 

 




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