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I’m paginated in a way.
Little leaflets
left for earmarks,
Scribbles, tears, creases
then stowed away.
Once laid out as chapters
for complete consumption,
It soon seemed better
to function
as pamphlets.
A light perusal
‘tween toilet flushes.
Bring brushes
to parse out the filth.
I’ll still be here,
tank-top
for unfolding
whenever you’re bored,
unsure
or ill...
