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I feel my age these days
bones creaking
the need to be well-oiled
like some kind of
tin woman
all rusted
on metal parts
I need refurbishing
then I could swag
with a new body
without dying
Be all bionic
built like
a brickhouse
again...
It's all here
the pen
the paper
and the poet
perfectly
existing
simultaneous
in the
same
space
at
one
time...
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