once i saw a circus
made of toothpicks,
built by a man
with a lot of years
and toothpicks on his hands.
is that
the pit
that must be filled?
with words or chemicals?
with bodies, ball games, work.
art.
anything at all
in place of love.
other men made knives
from melted combs
or smuggled spoons.
swapped for lucky strikes
or favors. the anger
locked behind the bars
with seven books,
one thin pillow,
a mirror, a dream,
and extra underwear.
perhaps a space
for god.
right beside
the comic books
and dog-eared
dictionary.
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