The Prolonged Travel of Lovers

August 5, 2011
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I’ll spin your pages from exotic colors.
Ones that are full of sonnets and instructions for dancing.
I’ll share with you this glowing life,
With all of the wild things prancing about. Every time is a look up.
And she is never there.
Like the faucet in your parents house.
Like the New York Runaway mouse.
And he’ll go far, my dears.
She’ll be there to swim in his tears.
Through Chicago streets, with hail everywhere;
they twirl in exactly the clothes wear.





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