she thinks i'm a kite
I'm more like an anvil
wrong end of a magnet
more still than tranquil
turned off and shut out
kicked out of the posse
the lanterns and showcase
has ridden the landscape
the perfect proportion
of one hidden handshake
of tree bark and statues
can opener handguns
one reason too many
and serious standoff
no bridges left spanning
no comic book torture
toll roads drained empty
from premature rapture
rat trap collapture
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