I often wonder what the archeologist would find
if all the words were scraped away from me

shedding songs & stories
revealing the naked unknown within

bare of all poems and quotations,
an entire thesaurus stripped from the crust

there are ways the self is wholly unlike the earth

from outside to inside:
fertile loam
outer core

& yet you are here—
looking into my liquid eyes
as if unafraid
of what lives here
— towards the outer core —
as if you want to know
what’s beneath all these words


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