Written by J.M. Chadwick


                                                         and who might you be?             
pleated pants, and an ice sculpture heart
empty, brown barrel eyes
skeletal caffeinated sufferer
grieving unknown ghosts and
humming prosodic pen ink
                                                         and who might you be?
nimble limbs—with calloused heels
a tadpole in a cup of tea
or, a yellow-paged play about a soul
that grew up as a little lamplight
but was actually a wildfire instead
                                                         and who might you be?
the lament of thank you, thank you, thank you
the elegy of sorry, sorry, sorry
a spitting image of an old record
that skips on your favorite part
loud echoes of a little scream
                                                         and who might you be?
seventeen, how could you forget?
all windows down and favorite songs
a foreshadowed ending
(you should have seen it coming)
the world in a wooden jewelry box
                                                         and who might you be?
developed film figures
with assurance and confident exhaustion
always in love with the earth, a girl,
or the simple nature of being
a sunglassed, denim decked, song screamer
                                                         and who might you be?
really, the orange glow of a streetlight
on a 4AM, empty-stomach window
the factory of feelings
that are not in the dictionary
and a wasteland of empty treasure chests



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