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Carden
Diaz
yes you won the race spinning spinning shiny haired youth barefoot in the woods asking for home home sweet the headlong over dirty heels blisters here where you fell asleep hating your stirrup pants built in four pale walled stalls while sing songs rang where you are they wonder while they sleep diurnally discontent you meet it with meaningless prayer you fast asleep to the crowing wind but no answering pipes or maps touch your lids with false wings definitely flies the one who asked the calm water in the dark that you believe believe to last to find that very great admonition to arrest while it frowns at so many disordered stars throwing across you needles that prickle down your spine like fear and scraped bare knees on your knees tilt your head back and close your eyes til you touch it
close your window
go to sleep
your bereft breath

(“[W]e come from a fairy-tale and shall return to a
fairy-tale again”-Hans Erich Nossach)

What light has done to their room:

Pale lady bug stuck like
a sequin on the curtain,

Red sea shells on the bedspread
washed out to a desperate pink—
little pepto bismol caplets,

Bright white towels double
as surrender flags.

The pool is shaped like a locket.

They steal shampoo bottles & soap disks,
cradle them inside a shower cap—thin fishbowl.

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