THIS HEAP
Does anyone know where the ramps are kept,
the rages, the ridges, the foils of this life? Man juggling
fenceposts on the opposite corner from me; watch him
move, struggling free. Behind him, two cats on a ledge,
tails curled like lions, just staring. Outside of that, nothing.
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Outside of that, nothing? The mailbox, where the two
Chinese guys just dropped their notes. They are both
walking, with maps, referring. One dangles a small
camera from a small neck. He wears an ill-fitting
carcoat I've never seen before. Talk is cheap. He talks.
-
He talks? Says something about something.
Call that talk? Talk is cheap. Outside of that, nothing.
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