years later, i run
in
the same direction,
east by southeast
on
a plain-dead trajectory,
lying. i
find you
in every tree, in every path,
in
every song.
i sing, dead-pan face,
stinging breath
pulled
out from tired lungs,
holding
change (out in front of me) on a limb
like
a carrot.
with
my dog-ged tread
you haunt me,
(haggard and still),
nine
thousand miles later...
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