CRUMBS Poem by Eva Gerlach
CRUMBS
Whatever's whole we fail to see, it is
too big for us, non-fitting, it won't go
inside our head
but what is chopped up, frittered, pounded fine,
crumbs, puréed, blown to dust, disintegrating -
all that is split up sticks in us for good.
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5/19/2024 6:45:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
