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The line in the sand

is at such incredible depth

but suddenly obtainable

through unspoken tragic demarcation

whatever the outcome

the 91st floor comes from underneath

they say today is happening

outside of me

and from a window

along the stress fracture

it's falling decidedly at your feet
Somethings a hatching

                     The dog's a scratching

What is that I see?

                                        A crazy flea!

I try to incarcerate
                            But the jam jar is too late

            Next time I'll be quick

                  You
                        Luna tick
Sand witches, solar sisters, they are the
west coast in this part of the cosmos,
tied to the hip with American thighs
and Brazilian otherwise, donning
catamaran bottoms the color of
red liquorice and snuggly
they sit at their
international
dateline
as if by
magic
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