i would have dreamed but a man in pastel yells.
my boots drag on the floor speckled with prison blues, high-tide grays and like a redhead during summer.
i have an erection.
i stare into the graph paper until it swirls-
peeling my face slowly off
like peeling the lid off of a soup can-
taking me far away.
the tired afternoon sun presses itself through the cheese-grater screen.
the million sun-flecks dandelion seed through the room and
bury themselves in his shirt.
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