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New Republic

 work between gigs or

sleep during the day 

poetry remains tawdry
broken bits held
together by
by some polynomial
or gravity a
crackerjack pontoon
of something
left in words on
the way in or out 

something of scansion
and ignorance
within a tribe that
whispers delight and
says goodbye
like tonnage 

language makes a space
and fills it and
your dream sticks to things 

you stop when
things get
interesting


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