Arlo Jacob Smith
Things that fell out of my head after vigorous shaking.
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citydrift/Portland/poemgram
Monday, March 16, 2015
I Am Not A Man
I am not a man.
I stole a man's skin.
We slept, he slept eyes open,
so I crept in.
And I have been living in his skin.
Now I don't know what I am.
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