Everything Comes In Dozens

Lunge out, where red feathered people/ wind up with all they want./ I’m right about fried rice, dime store curtains; /look around town for kooky boxes/I fill the space between my eyes./With your image, the curious one you sent me/ hard to leave well enough alone./ I’m tempted to tamper,/I wait longer than usual,/ sight become threadbare/yields forms, suspect as human./Warm rainfall, in phantom gestures/I walk past a Chinatown marquee./I pass through stages,/moment to moment,/I grasp an incandescent flower/I watch it crumple

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