“Sometimes I feel very sad.” –Brian Wilson

is skin pulled
off, moved
from me
to the worn
floor of my room.

The room’s
floor wears
what is pulled
from me.
Across it, dust moves

when I move.
The room
contracts. I
am cloth and dust.
I pull
myself up, worn

from worn
out moves.
Dust pulls
in the room’s
corners. Dust
deserts me.

But I
patience. Like dust,
I move
through my room.
I pull

an arm through a shirt, pull
through my room—
it wears
me too. It moves
its dusted

tongue, pulls off worn
skin while I move
through my room’s dust.

A black and white photograph of the poet Brian Clifton. They are sitting in a field of wild flowers.

Brian Clifton has work in: PleiadesGuernicaCincinnati ReviewSalt HillColorado ReviewThe JournalBeloit Poetry Journal, and other magazines. They are an avid record collector and curator of curiosities.

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