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Andy Randell Feb 2018
I'd feel so at home in Wyoming;
Married to my television
Cigarettes for breakfast
I'm at peace with my shaking
Clipping branches of my tree
To feed my precious pets

I never played the game
Rolling dice around my teeth
But I keep my eyes on the window
Let the creeping wind in my belly
Be all that makes sense
Thrown like a doll in the corner
Unblinking for the longest time
Measured by the shift and click
Twisted legs coiled like cables
Sealing Matthew into his box

America's fables never spoken
Her reputation and misadventures undeserved
Fit like latex on an amateur surgeon
My cardboard house unfolded
Everything in a tanned leather briefcase
I just forgot the combination
827 - 125 and the button slides

Why can't I leave my things in a crate
And ship myself off to a Grecian island?
I could be sung to sleep
Just as in my room
But now, my dear Johnny, Oldboy,
It's gloaming on Elysium
My chest is still beaten upon
I file the cold edges round
Empty another carton and call it a day

— The End —