11:11

11:10, no pens; binary, monochrome.
Twiddling thine idle toothbrush,
Naked bar the should’ve been-s & haven’t got.

Where in every second I’m expected;
No, wagered; no, known
To be what I’m not. (I’m not)

With each clickety-clack
Of plastic membrane,
Undone-the strings and the lace.

The Me without ventriloquist,
Cries a silent cry,
Contorts a porcelain face.

11:11 a moment, a wish forgot.
The snakes in the woodwork hiss,
“You’re not, you’re naught.”

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