Over the course of only hours
all these empty homes
will betray, turn to
empty lots and these
rusty tools will become
artifacts and these clotheslines
will be bare once again and these
hammocks will remain
empty, waiting like a
child waits for his lemonade
from another child selling lemonade, like a bad sneeze
when you can feel it coming but
you cannot influence it you must simply

I am trapped inside the town
and trapped inside you,
closed inside your hand inside your coat pocket,
stuck between you and the Gulf of Mexico, and between
you and the sky and the strings and the light--
you can all touch me now.
You can change the way I see.

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