Poetry by Brett Thompson

that I exist.  
Spotlight witness 
to the oxygen boiling veins 
to powder.  
I can’t imagine anymore 
another life. 
There are mice 
skittering across 
the gaps in our walls 
there are flowers 
who sprout without seed. 
Last December you shouted 
across a canyon, shivering 
when the the door 
to your room 
returned only silence. 
Always remember 
you are small 
but immense, 
a forgotten pop song blooming, 
a rusty lantern inside an empty cave. 
If the kerosene puddles  
at your feet and spreads between 
your toes, inhale  
until you can’t judge the difference 
between it and water, until it is purer 
than chloroform or even air. 

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