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new zealand lies so far away from los angeles
on my dusty plate-glassed sun-greened globe. i spin
the empty wobbly world like a rolodex positioning it
just so. let's see at this longitude i can see auckland
from my keyboard in chicago -- & chicago -- & toronto.
but mostly i see 30something hours in an isolated day.
a day is measured from one sleeping to the next.
this one day bruises tailbone is the bane of sitting a time
of ceaselessnesses creaking humming droning turbofanning it
tortures my keeping upright in a folded and locked position
thus craving drinks as junky needs his junk -- to medicine
away the time the absence of solitude the absence of a big
and empty bed.
the stash the loot: it comes served cool. but never really
cold. i've sold my soul for fizzy cans -- a fortune manyfold.