3/30

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the walls are mahogany ooze and

black widow’s words, the rooms filled but devoid

emptiness between the bay windows,

emptiness in your ears, drabble

flowing across the floors into the note pads and one finger

attempting to type

the possession of a dream is

death itself, the kiss of waning curiosity

ravages the fat

rolls, dulls the eye and brain

powders to hide the shame, the lost gleams and winks,

jewels and houses

to hide the luster borne to the winds

complacency is the spider’s dear web

a paralysis in the feet of the young

I would have been the fly but I wanted to grow old among books

trade stories with bearded men and pretend I was the smartest alive

but will I be? Smart men know

only fools think they’re something before they are

and I have me a pair of golden wings

a ticket away, liberty and the words

“peace, motherfucker” in my resignation letter

already

I cannot forget that slowness

the choking of New York’s air

it will chase me all my life

and I must run until my soles die off

from wearing these holes into the paved earth.

 

 

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