Time
burns a match
longer
than a match
would
normally burn.
The
oldest ones lean,
breathe,
dampen, lose screws.
Once
it had parachuted
like
a proud waffle.
Darkly
wide. A noise had
telescoped
noisily,
forming
a hole in my
shirt,
a larger vivisection
for
greater comfort.
The
edges of that hole
had
since crystallized.
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