Our Dust Collection in Great Demand
Look at the choppy water. My beach towel with gray diamonds. Planes passing leaving little buzzers in the air. A bee on my butter knife. There's the life you've wandered into, then there's where you're supposed to be. I'm stopped at a red light in a Honda Accord with some drugs in my sock. A pedestrian presses the walk button and I imagine the moon being just a part of a cheek in a photo. Tonight I'll line brass bells beside your door. Step outside, press your arches to each until the ringing stops. That distant growl? The sea, waiting for us all. It is waiting for us all and not even thinking about it. 
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