Like A Cold Chill

Tonight I went, "Ahh Muncie," standing in the middle of Jackson.
My eyes were pounding the puzzle piece sky into trees and power lines.
The penniless wind lifted my stretched work shirt above my head
and through my chest I absorbed nutrients from broken glass
dried earth and rootspilt-sidewalks.
Centipedes and silkworms crossed over my feet to get where
they were going, and they found it,
1900 W. Jackson St. 


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