You yourself are never an ending, / never collapse like the pinsetters’ set-up / or vanish like the smudged pencil

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You’d see them hauling speakers at a gig, / drinking Cokes and fondly reminiscing / about that night (the ketamine! The wig!)

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The snapped lights-out in my childhood bedroom / where roses on satin turned ghost-pale by streetlamp

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I am in need of a manicure. / A manticore. A man to cure.

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