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clinging to the cloth monkey

clinging to the cloth monkey

because I know it
because it is what there is
because the cloth—though cheap, the pile long since flattened—
	is where I have clung
		and smells familiar
because there’s something beneath which is rigid and clear
	and allows purchase
because if I loosen my grip
	after the cramps I will know myself
				crippled
because the damage and the distances
		appal
because it is hard to give up hope,
	however vain
because it is going to be taken away
because there might not be
			anything else