Desperate for my passport out of here,
Whose paper footprints I cannot trace.
I found you though, sunbathing on a rock,
Naked legs whipped by warm gusts.
My mouth, still bleeding, Just. Can't. Talk.
I will soon be on a jet, a leg, feeling that lag;
Popping the dream bubble floating near.
From the rooftops of Boston I'll wave the flag
That, or so it seems, I am unable to fold.
Tomorrow I will unsheath my guts
and feed them to the fish that broke the bowl.
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