I am not holding out.
All the snaps are coming off
the woman's blouse
and pelleting traffic.
I am in the background.
A child's breath
is a newspaper of distraction
and a microphone
for envy.
Stuff the body with more steam.
Stamps
as the new literary outlet.
It's September
and I am getting my feet wet.
What we want is
mental connection.
We call yesterday True.
Today I am in the centerfold
that cannot be reached,
floundering in the white
seams.
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