Pink, plastic flamingos

A bird flies overhead
& it doesn’t matter

that no one notices.
It is October

& the billboards
are skimming

the edges & books
& arms expect

refrain. Someone’s
hair is lightly pulled

back in fists, mediated
in mouthfuls; the teeth

of something much
faster than escape.

The ceiling is not
glass. Metaphors

are useful: raspberry,
a lion in a cage.

The decision to get up
& go is just that.

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