i'm leaving
the bats ball around too much
argue with the sky about who's blind
enough, for it weeps about a sun
placate the cotton around the fire
until all ablaze, a ruin, a pitchfork or a sundial
rumored cars are squeaks and make mice of the night
a diligent opportunity to run, forges legs
the optical illusions of rims, fans
that this will be the game that lasts
a song that better states the hymn of the republic than goals
in the smoke aloof from the grass, dance ancestors
who know the secrets when the other
sidelines of the mirror bar them
laugh arm over shoulder
taxied home with friends
the world up in smoke,
drags at our
heels
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