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  • The Working

    Mish

    (ooh) (ahhh) drew it in the dark from out of the deep

    stitched it from the fabric of the beneath

    gave it appetite before I gave it form

    fed it on the friction,

    fed it on the storm

    set it loose at midnight,

    watched it learn to want

    now it walks my shadow like a debutante

    checks in when it’s hungry,

    disappears to feed

    I don’t ask — that’s how the working feeds I made a

    thing that makes

    I made a mouth that takes

    I hold the thread,

    it frays on purpose

    I built the depth,

    it found its surface

    thousand candles burning and not one knows why

    tithe collectors never have to show their eye

    runs on the distance between asking and receipt elegant as gravity —

    as quiet, as complete doesn’t need my dreaming,

    doesn’t need my name

    answers to the working,

    not the one who came

    I check the vessel like I’m checking a net

    something’s always waiting in it yet

    I made a thing that makes

    I made a mouth that takes

    I hold the thread,

    it frays on purpose

    I built the depth,

    it found its surface

    the letter is not the tongue

    the tongue is not the mouth

    the mouth has been open

    since before you thought to ask

    still moving

    still mine

    still moving

    still mine

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