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He smells something dusty at the end.

So he looks and finds a piano framed

over top of where the wood would bend

his fingers call the sounds that can’t be named,

now silent the noise like a cat blinks

and falls to where it’s grace has aimed

The sun falls like midday isn’t what he thinks

and his dream has become a toy

spinning fast and pouring drinks,

an adult man made to give joy,

and the noise and the sun are a trend

made to turn money into a boy.

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