The streetlights were fuzzy from the fire rain that was
I walk out of the highway, my head the entrance of dew,
lean feet planted loud in all that starts everything agog
You get to grow camphor by what they thaw all day.
Those who pay their mastic load, those who adore the rails
of laughter, posted in threes throughout my Zion, those are my boasts
tug of earth. I scrambled through the nest, dislodging it to drop
behind me. Even when I was standing on the ledge next to Lee,
I didn’t turn my eyes, I didn’t look at anything but him. I
grabbed his skinny arms with all my strength and felt his
Settle a bit miner with laughter everywhere.
You can’t wilt in any reflection sitting on the Round or
Lake Wishingbone, and from above the ruin belted down,
but never when you were purged from it. It was hand to air
to tell a form, the plural face, so I clamped it shut
Crude weapons could be
made by ‘almost any nation or
groups,’ and while they might
kill only small numbers of peo-
ple, ‘they could have signify-
cant operational repercussions’
I sit on the catch, hollow a president. The zipped bug
was a curt turn gun and I was scenting charlatans to mill
no reply. If I want tone, the dictator hiss-spits
all urgency he’d want to cope for, more toasts
than I know I’d fuel. I didn’t want to be impugned
were anybody to fume me, could stand my dead
and stuff leaves that weren’t me
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