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They sit on steps against the wind
The colors changing growing thin
In lights and lye and lost illusions
Watch these two discussing
What to make of
Unborn children who may take or not take
Let us not break
Their cups are cold their hands are black
They sit at angles but
Distraction will not find them it will find them
In a white room
Where itâs all just touching shells
Itâs touching shells
But Itâs just nothing
Itâs just nothing
He would never know
If she had never told
Him that sheâd like to be a kind of mother
Now heâs on his own
A drift of sallow bone
And nothing there to lift him from the shudder
Your first love teaches you the parts of speech
All the words that you never thought that you could reach
The shop and the bulletproof chinese
The yellow billboard yellow frieze
Of last yearâs summer flicks
And soon the bus of nations hits
Itâs blinking in the breeze
Of afternoons and afternoons
Of yawning
And heâs longing
And though heâs certain that the shudderâs tied to fall
His throat is tight canât quite recall
Itâs in the books or in the wall
That scene of children standing tall?
He clears his throat
He clears it
Heâs got a place in some small town
Far from the garden and the gown
She wears for someone else
While someone else
Will hold her hand
In some cold off-white room
But heâs okay
And youâre okay
And weâre okay
We break the fall
But heâs okay
And youâre okay
And weâre okay
Itâs nothing it all