Quiet as the
night might be with eyes closed / unexposed to complications / nations in
gradations of neverfail grayscale fading into else – what’s left on the shelf
and what we’d rather buy – try as we might indulge fudgsicles and full-on
haberdashery – everyone’s go their style – his-style her-style bicycle – merry-go-round
– we drown in holiness – the light we feed ourselves with two hands open – hope
for a sidedish while only main is served – we reserve our orders for menus of
our own – a grown-up misbehavior and naptime collapsing finds and treasures as
we measure out our strengths – hoping that the lengths we go to will leave
something left – the best so yet to come numbing the present in hesitant stops
while the past drafts its own revisions – hinging on the covers and the
closeandopen pages – the stages we’ve reached – twice more into the breach –
more to come the strungalong view suggests though the bests are vaguely plenty
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