Carousel
How naive I was in the water.
Here is your doorbell.
There's a chip in the side.
But you don't mind.
You were steam
No one could noodle.
Nowadays I sit by the bank
scratching mud off my side belly.
There used to be substance there,
a carousel to house each storm.
I pluck whole couches,
thesis, and fist that tangle
my long long hair.
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