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// Your held optimism
is like a fruit-bat
convulsing on the floor.
All flap and light
bones on something
real and hard.
You couldn’t sing the rest
of the
song
because the words frothed
at someone else’s
mouth
before you had a chance
to grab at them.
Never mind.
There’s more time
in the week to come,
to find
your eyes
and
learn to
at all the nonsense. //
cry again
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