Incorporations Poetry

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Gone

She tastes gone
as done,
no thought of wait,
of escape
She’s not caught,
she’s not even
here

She stares down
her now, chooses
exactly
what air to breathe
when
and who, today,
can exist

It’s all but over,
the leaving.
Already, she’s not
looking back.
She sees, knows
the next and then
and more;
no questions

All she needs
of you,
is a room, a door
and an open window

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