Squeeze-box

I picture
stories
one on each fold of a squeeze-box.

Life breathed into each;
palpable,
real,
physical,
material.

Then,
collapsed with the squeeze of the hands,
air P-U-S-H-H-H-E-D out.
Story upon story,
all together,
as one.

Resonance,
they speak to each other.
They exist together as one materiality.
At home,
in a squeezebox.

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Filed under Metaphors, Poetry

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