I have so many pieces in my pockets, sometimes I wonder
what would happen if they – crept out – fell out – leapt out –
for the world to see.
To know what they mean to me.
To believe or not believe, me.
See, you don’t see how:
I’ve collected and I’ve kept them,
hid them and erased them,
seen them pristinely polished.
See, you don’t see how they fit together,
how they all originate from this
shattered into pieces from this blast,
exclusively eclectic secret relics,
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