TORN-OUT PAGES
You've torn out the magazine
pages I was waiting to see. Now
I've got nothing to do - just sitting
here in this harbor shed, like some
security guy at the Cuban Embassy.
That danger's all gone, so what should
now be. My hands are like rakes, just
scratching the surface of all this
world; looking for something
little, or something big,
to unfurl.
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