all I can tell you is that is my fingernails are
bit down to the bed again and I've been
calling back the telemarketers to listen to the
dial of the phone and hear what's for sale—
even the one that calls for my insurance number,
forewarning me of a cease in coverage. I'm not sure when the
gnawing started again, whose teeth are sharpened, or
how to pace the appetite. I'm not sure how
I got put on this caller's list or what part of me was insured—
just that there is blood on the dial numbers from where my fingers
kissed the notes to hear the ringing tone, and I wonder in
leisure when this habit will end—the way you realize it'd been a
month since you listened to your favorite song.
now, I can hardly remember the melody. 

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