squeaky clean like a record with no groove
moving to the rhythm of a thousand ferris wheels
the real deal is stealing copper
the cowboys and the robbers free to pay their own way
feet of clay jogging around the ceramic track
spinning in ellipses
tripping on dots clotted at the ends of middles of lines
defining our newsreels in surreal judgement
let me have your handkerchief
please don't ask for it back
when i'm ready i will give forgiveness
saving the bigness of an awkward moment
straying from the wrong day into right
the left day into night
the air that blows is too cold for these toes
these wires always crossed
bossed around by suspended parentheses
these are the voyages
the toy chests
wait until the bill comes in
then we'll see who stay and who pays
there are no reasons to tune in to this moon
wait and sea and season the salt
below the colors and into the numbers
waiting for the subtraction of additional answers
dancing in abstraction
i'm sorry again
let's pretend a different picture
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