The world turns wild like dice in the back room. It spins free, like a rorschach evening. So don't let them in now, and take these things easy. This isn't a living room rhythm, but a half-spoken Satie. A cathedral dragged up from an unrepentant sea, and a hand basket of aftermath where we keep all your teeth.
This is zebras crashing tuxedo season, and the elephant in the tomb. A leopard in the senator's sheets, and a casket for the groom. This is the new american alphabet, and a war wound rubbed raw. A coffee mug full of absinthe, and a storm across the jaw. A sprint up the station stairs, and a night train too soon. A petulant softness peeling inward, like a darkening blue.
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