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your feet are over

top of glass, like porcelain,

painted blue and expanding

over the world.  You break

your toes, so you can dance better.  The

theatre applauds.  ‘Maybe one day, we

can get out of her’ ‘Later, fella, for

now we got to pirouette’  the sash around

your waist is red and it unfurls over

top of your eyes.  ‘now, please, can

we leave’ ‘Later, buster, first we’ve

got to pistolet’  The glass breaks and

an audience member shrieks.  ‘have me

moved past the future yet?’  ‘Come on sport,

there’s an ocean with a philosemite’

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