All those

marked

dirty

dusty

cardboard boxes,

all the ones you

had packed those

old chameleon skinned lives

into,

all those boxes you had

patiently moved from house

to house, all those

years – up stairs, down elevators, trolley, trailer, car boot – never

opened –

stacked now, balanced

precariously right in the back

corner of the garage, cobwebbed

until

this rain stained day –

you opened them

and found the long

dismembered limbs of these whole other

lives,

you have been gnawing

obsessively

at them

ever since

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