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Drink (Bottle)
Please try again.
Clasping my fingers and the cap
tightly,
Another disappointment.
These trivial hairs on the back of
my neck,
Tingly and mindful.
They are pine needles today.
The kind of prickly things that
Survive a winter storm.
Antennas picking up signals.
Are they the right ones?
Then again,
Maybe it’s just the fridge
Or the drink that keeps me awake.
My attention skips
Like a channel button
Surfin’…
That man in the other room,
His lips are pixilated.
And while my ears hear,
It’s a kind of happy white noise.
A form that blankets my own
thoughts.
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