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And
so how did it all rise up so slowly
these
sentiments just
tail-lights
blinking on the back of a truck, a
puff
of dark grey from a pipe as it gears down -
an
innocent enough export of fumes
from
a body in motion, a body
in
motion in this mind. A tortuous, grinding ascent
from
insinuation to fact.
The
words which we come at each other with filter,
thicken,
sometimes spit back.
A
kettle to the boil, and a hand too close to its spout -
too
much time spent sitting out here on this deck
watching
that truck crawl finally to the top and indicate that it's
out
of this junk. Over the rail cold coffee is
tipped
from a cup.
A
casual disgust at myself, how do I find such
poison
in the innocuous?
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