My First Possession

when wet my first possession squeaks,
slips and spreads more wetness where it goes
inside my first possession is a bell
it chimes when bounces, squeezed or thrown
I throw it often,
from my chair, and from my mat,
and at the dog, who thinks it’s his.
my first possession reflects a world
that looks down upon me,
spheroidal, spectral,
always shifting and adjusting—
I will remember my first possession,
it is me, it is mine, it is everything around me.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio



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