I Make Circles

C.F.C.C.

To

You

Of

The

Sloppy Sheets

And

The

Descending Drain

Where

Most All Things Float To Me,

Eventually

In

The End

 

I Drive Golf Carts

Around

And

Around

Empty Parking Lots

While

Listening To Sad Songs,

Mouthing The Words

Under My Breath

And

Imagine

The

Novenas

 

The

Hushed Circling

Of My

Breath,

Cycling

With

The

Novenas

 

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