SHADOWED CATEGORIES
OF DOUBT
Everything had a schedule, all on its own,
each small thing. How was I to know? The
girls who would turn into men; the men who
would turn into ladies. Each had its own
fixed time, a scheduled lamp waiting to
light. Standing back with two drinks in only
one hand, I was mesmerized by the thought.
-
The three-man band on the cardboard stage
was running down as the stage collapsed.
It all made for a pretty music, that clang.
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