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Bend and Break
It's not that we're too old too limber up,
just too stupid.
Another letter, ordered between the lines,
hand written, stiffly informal.
I can imagine you
at your desk writing. Your unstable desk lamp
lighting face
and hand spiraling.
Or maybe in the hum of the last train,
it's me, writing frantic, half hearted
lies, wanting to be caught for small transgressions
a flasher exposing himself to shock eyes away
from bitten nails and racing pulse.
I'm scared too. Fine. But why mention that? We
can continue
go nine rings ignoring
infinite looping
trying to find the paradoxical beginning late,
where we end all this.
End all this
Confess
to spring and fall pulling at branches at once,
we at a single window
watching children
break the rules
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