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Wyn Cooper
The Spaces Between Our Hieroglyphs

Until we sort it out it will remain
encrypted, unread, buried under stories
that require no downward scroll, no
unironic eyeroll, print too fine
to read on our devices.

Nerves lead us for countless cautious miles
that leave our shoes in pieces,
soles worn to nothing, our thesis
abandoned, unreviewed—as if
someone might see in our thoughts,
in the spaces between our hieroglyphs,
something that isn’t there.

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