emotionless, the smooth ticking
in God's great brass stitches,
holding the world together.
knotted feebly
in great loose threads, beautifully,
without tangles.
unhappy speaking, delicious,
the several luscious seconds
between bread and tea.
shivering, like the herniated. like the cold.
touchable. readable.
under my parka, humming alien lullabies
like some homesick foreigner watching
the silver glint of spare change and cows eyes,
the perfect stranger, seeking no home.
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