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Spaghetti knots


the following is due to the death of gordie downie. i did not know him. i listened to him infrequently. and i am broken too.


all those things that left in the morning

behind that closed yellow door and the pants

that aren’t put on quite right yet

a car that spits smoke on reflections of a window

with its blinds closed

a moment not taken to seize her hand

once more


all those times you have lost an airplane ticket

the ancient disaster spelt out on the floor with a wasted popcorn bag

the daily quitting of that thing that brings you to the next day

that novel that exercise that person you’ll be

if only you’ll be that person


all those checkerboard skies forgotten

homes you made now filled with other people

who feel the place could use a fixer upper

stars above your ceiling that you do not look upon

or that do not look upon you either


all of this reminds you to

not say emptiness

is nothing


it weighs

as much as

there is

but mostly

isn’t anymore


just like your voice


something of what was

About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters.


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