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Writer's pictureTin Can Poetry

Rollerblades By Kirsty Miles

Rollerblades and a belly

/ your technicolour tongue

you mispronounce things,

cling to the wrong parts of words

and people, probably, too

you insist you found me

when you hold my shoulder

But I promise, you haven’t, I don’t know the body

My parts aren’t

Technicolour, or monuments,

like yours

your arms hang like art

I’m a constellation of remnants

I keep shedding, shedding

/ just an outline and

you’re coloured in

we could exist like a checkered pattern

like the clothes you wear on the night train, burrowing into the neck of night

or soon

you’ll be busy saying other things

and looking for other people.

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