Several hundred miles in rolling asphalt sun
setting gold and husky, glancing at 90
or probably greater, to record a line we
will see months later and hear as hollow
no strings attached
the myself in this chair
myself in the sofa bed
myself in this brackwater
myself abrupt face
slashing change
These lines are all dashers, and greedy
at that, all sticky fingers of a toddler,
suctioning out the boxes I nearly filed
to bleed by themselves quietly
no strings attached
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