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07/11/2009

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easy after eight,
the work-late slouch,
the florescent confessional

the metamorphosis chamber
a grind forgotten

"we keep the wound open"
he looks away

if life were a championship, he thinks,
this moment would be broadcast
with not-so-witty commentary

(pause)
and then he thinks, i am alone in public, he thinks,
after losing for so long
one goal would drive the crowd mad

the chamber shakes and rattles
the chamber waits for love

Kafka in the corner sips brandy
charcoal pinstripe black Oxfords
London, Paris: here Montgomery
a stroller cavorts

thick crowd. . . hums. . .
tunnel-bound. . . wrapped. . . up. . .
about to be. . . delivered. . .

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