Cover Story

Stains ring in dead white
beneath tired cotton,
Hidden from the cold of light
except for occasional slip.

Memories remain in the dark,
Left hanging on a rail
with the rest of the clothes,
Trapped in each day as they come.

One by one, minutes pass by.
Slowly, counting each mark
as sleeves slide back and forth,
Open and closed, exposed.

Gradually, ink covers and
distracts, growing from fresh
cuts up the arm, up the wrist.
A likely cover story.

Stains ring in dead white
beneath tired cotton,
Hidden from the cold of light
except for occasional slip.

cover story

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