carver-hearts

I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

Thought:

“I don’t really know what kind of voice my poetry has because it’s always changing, or at least I hope it is. But it cannot change much because it is always me or some form of me.”

John Ashbery

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