There is a window 

Among the third-world luxuries

Of this heart.

Drawn desperate curtains

Bury the out-of-favour 

tomfoolery.

 It is only fair

To keep from the world

What it doesn’t care for.

But if you must, 

Reach out past the barbed veins

Creeping

Up this bird cage.

A hand planted it here.

Rest your head against it

Sleep on your reasonable side

You will know

What it knows. 

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