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2.8.03
Saturday Afternoon In The Fountains
We both had the same
zero-sum game dream
suddenly awry simultaneously
cut losses won and worn
like a pike wears a head.
Gimme back my Empire,
there's already too many irons in the fire,
Gimme Pax Americana in fiefdoms
of McDonaldland franchises.
We both wore the same haircuts
and gave the same salutes to mannequins
we saw standing around doing nothing
because based on their hunches,
we were lost.
We both wanted the same oligopoly:
control of all the pay toilets along the interstate,
rigorous enforcement, with pesticides, if necessary,
of the law of supply and demand.
Gimme back my Empire,
down to its lowest common denominator,
Gimme a colony of irrefutable evidence,
and oxygen masks for the sunset ahead.
We both ate sand and spit up a universe of stars.
Everthing was created around us. A comlexity
of ice cream flavors and shopping market shelves
shaved down to choirs singing the same jingle
we both sang to ourselves until the lights went out.
11:46 AM
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