Country Music
an online journal of poetry
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A.T. Grant

 

 

COUNTRY MUSIC

 

Unusable signal. I was born without you.
I was born without a clearing. Fires
ate their scorched earths into me. This world
it does not work. I unfold it. I can find
no position. I spread the map over my head.
Wrap it around me. I fold myself in.

 

 

 

 

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