as the chalk is rubbed away
to know that what you mean
is exactly what you say
the words hang there like cobwebs
heavy in a dusty room
serving as a shelter
protecting like a womb
there's a shadow on the floor
a taped outline of truth
and what you heard was me
although my point was moot
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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