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Coat at a Party
By Grant Tarbard
Nothingness is a felled coat on a bed
with its heart removed. Like a dog,
it doesn’t know if you’re coming back,
and if your perfume will be reinserted
later. Do the other prim jackets bully it
for being a bulky army greatcoat
that’s seen stone mosques stitched
with sand. Is it scared – the wallpaper
of purple pines is a missile bay in a submarine
beneath the dossing sea. The coat hopes
its pockets of woodbines and the small
book of love letters of great men, showing
a disinterest for the well-being of others,
will be enough to regain the brush
of your throat on the collar.
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