I sometimes get the impression
or
am impressed upon
by memory
that all of those
shouters
and
heel clicks
the brave walkers
and
hushed
speakers
those who run
rogue rampant down
the iridescent rainslick
of another
careless night
and that bitter boy
who was
set apart from his pack
a victim of
the inherent lust
in another midnight
waltz
are all back
where they were.
Our sandbox
only
grew.
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