a fresh blister peeled on
an ant across the street
stomping off in anger
with no where to go
looks to long familiar signs
with names written the same
to read differently to point elsewhere
in a murmuration of words and signs
on their way somewhere else
away from the eye of God
a child dreams of a 45
for the bear in the woods
and berates every failure
of nerve and resolve
and still the dream persists
maybe this time
****
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