I’ve dug myself a hole
in the right thigh,
and poured the concrete
to hold a mail box pole.
I’ve put port windows
over my kidneys,
and let the swallows in
under my chin.
Thumped like a bellows
and belching emptily…
the night asks,
“To whom? To whom?”
The chipmunks won’t come out
from under the lungs
and give up all the closet space
I’ve justly abandoned.

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