Michael Dumanis


The Forecast

I carry myself out into the rainswept blur.
I lift my pleasant voice over the coming flood.
I have nothing to do that I'm going to do.
I keep meaning to purchase a dog. I keep waiting

to email you back. When I see you again will
I know who you are? Once I wove you a mask
of rattan and hair. Once I carved you a mask
of painted wood. I brushed my wooden leg

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