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Consumption as Black Hole Photograph and Sweat Bees.

 How you can only see            absence by what it eats, the hot
wreckage pressed      into a glow we can only almost be
sure of, no matter how bright. How the first image
of universal loss looks just like a map of corneal
damage--the crazed scrapings of tiny bees living
in your eye, eating            your tears. You got them in
a cemetery, their old home, like       the singularity, a place
where things sink and if they ever come        out again, they never
come out the same. How crying can           call the hungry
to dinner. How any of us    can be dinner. How the world
can be a midnight snack. How sometimes a shred        of song
gets stuck in your head. How you look up the lyrics, but
there is no record. How you think it is lost and you sing
it more often to call            it back into the world until years
later   you hear it and it has the wrong words, it fails your
memory just as you failed      to understand it the first time. And
you itch to call someone because you are                 sure
you got their chorus           wrong. How you clear your throat
to try          again.
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Author:Nieves, John A.
Publication:Atlanta Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 22, 2019
Words:224
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