The Neighbor's Shakes

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The Neighbor’s Shakes


Neither wound nor blessing 

you imagined, this inability to pinch


a pen or fit a Philip's-head to the bit, 

but when everything we vise


into our grip becomes, in time,

a tool, some of us could use


a dropped screw or two, set loose at last

to quake in the gold-plated glint 


of all we cannot seem to hold,

the quiet quiver of empty hands 


bearing the weight of being

held even so, even so.

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