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Self-dusted drum
beatz over helpless
fired eyes, slumping in the
shadows, floating forward, past
the maple trees. If only an Englishman
would imagine us and we wouldn’t have to be
more than things and electricity
drifting like flies
over fruit made to tell
the queen what plums taste like.
the earth would know us and
that’s all we ever wanted
to be strong enough
to be the ground.