Move smoothly through the gathering crowd,
with it clutched egg-tight to your breast.
Keep your head bowed and your eyes just down,
don't grin around the plastique
between your teeth.

The months needed to be picked off one by one
crushing their weeks first, with the setting of each sun.
You have been quiet: keep your path straight, not narrow,
through every midnight and dark tomorrow,
every heart that's worn with hollows.

Then you will come to the primary target,
then there's nothing else but for it
to take up arms, against a see of troubles,
to open your arms, to blow your bubbles,
scream defiance at the wind pushing at your back
as the year goes dead and the sky goes black.

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