Typed Music


I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.


50. I mislaid myself

I mislaid myself one morning
Took three months to claw myself back
Searched every corner of the dark
Scoured the pavements crack by crack

Spooled the night with a microscope lens
And then rummaged under the bed
Tried to push out those other girls
Who’d instated themselves in my head

Latched myself into my writing
Handcuffed myself to my keys
Fed off the damp of my poetry-drip
Then relocated myself with ease.

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