rolling the lint from my pockets between my fingers
into a ball
sitting on the toilet at 8am waiting to shit
reminds me of this time 1993 I think
pulling lint from my bellybutton between the buttons
of a shirt that no longer exists
through a shirt already
too small at a funeral for someone I can barely recall
nothing about the place is the same except maybe
the act
the color of the walls which were beige
and the feeling of the lint on my skin.
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