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now (an in-between poem)

a familiar face

a mother
(a face)

on a stick

on a pedestal
on a pedestal

on a pedestal

gazing at the brightness with which the future


(it comes from your 2 o'clock)

wistful, breezy - you don't even know it's there
but she insists, still looks for it - oh!

there's more


it doesn't twist

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