sorting out the clickety clack--
the old tire, the giant hook
the burger king collectors cup
filled with something only my
pet fish would tolerate
because he is red and braver than
me, of a hardier fin than my
frigid fit that stirs in 1 inch radiuses
the shock wave of a
millipede. Thats all part of the unwind
the big-de-wind, that starts as a gun shot
and wins in a stutter. This feeling is a fade
before a head ache or a glass of water with
the after taste of pistachio. Do you get me?
Do you resonate with what I'm saying?
I'll repeat this to the glass jar which is my igloo
while Paul walks out the window, having the nerve
to never forget his keys.
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