there are wee people in my head.
they welter about my brain
and knock against my eye
they want freedom from their cell
it's not too bad
because they keep my memories in jam jars
and take polaroids
that only I can see
and only I see fade
or they scrawl ink-spattered notes
that I never post
so that nobody ever has to know about
the profanities that spew
or the stilfled sobs
they will never hear
the burbles of laughter
nor the snorts of derision
for the wee people speak only to me
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