the fist of my gut

somewhere
in the fist of the earth
enstrata, folded warmly

is that person who
spoke into clenched ears
acted against deserted rows

their legacy may be grasped
a scrap of fabric hooked
and torn away

a few shorn word, no longer
contexted, slipping under:
sublime

I open my mouth, felsic,
fecund with their antiquations,
belly-deep, spewn

somewhere
in the fist of my gut
is the was

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