Three Months

In just over three
months I will wash my skin
of this city–this small
town with the farms still tucked
away behind the hills, country
splayed out fat and happy
with the creeping edge
of metropolis ripping out weeds
and burning tree leaves. In three
months I will sleep
with cement sidewalks
and the hum of the harbor.
Scrub my skin of this life.
Lay it out in words.

 

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