that’s me and you walking like crows with heads going back and forth like 2 trains running

that’s me and you with our little red tongues wagging like insects emerging from the desiccated nation of petals

that’s me and you with our cheeks squinty and shiny like a muscular salmon doing a whitewater squirt

that’s me and you when i wasn’t notched as a Roosevelt dime and you weren’t folded like the old war newspaper

that’s me and you riding the internecine moment when the night of the universe curled some gazes inside of boulders

that’s me and you making like stevedores on a 1934 General Strike as the hour itself glazed cool blueish ceramic

that’s me and you when i had a pocket full of keys as if that mattered and coins that could drop a meter in the street

that’s me and you when all our thoughts weren’t bottled in amber glass and tossed by the San Bernardino like a roadkill century

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