In Stationary
on-stage rage awakes to dollar store sadness
a wire cup can’t its contents any more than
a gift its delivery system
held to my ear awaiting its ocean
returned to the shelf no longer itself
but another dumb thing to be stepped from
last night’s mosh pit surfer rising
shirtless ribs a pitchfork into a broom
of ruffled jute its counterfeit effigy a life
returned to the cup but on its side this time
its face-out availability is what I am
getting you
getting you
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