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by nathan spoon

           a word     is appearing

on your right hand     and again

on your left hand     [now] the same word

is shining on your forehead


in the beginning of the idea     before

you were what you     [now] are

a figure     almost a being of sorts

differentiated as you

                                     before you settled


to watery simulacrum     breathing in

and out     you moved your fingers and toes

on the banks of a burbling river

                                                      then when

we met I became you and you became


who I was


                                   we are here


[now] we are back from the dead

[now] we are disturbing and overwhelming

whatever it is we are doing     [now]

we don’t remember     forgive us


as antlers emerge     out of air

and when nobody is looking     we

are brittle as the earth under

the double vastness of northern sky

Nathan Spoon is an autistic poet with learning disabilities whose poems appear or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review,

Columbia Journal, The Cortland Review, Gulf Coast, and Poetry. His debut collection, Doomsday Bunker, was published in 2017.

He is editor of Queerly.

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