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eventually
eventually
with the last breath in my lungs i
throw myself into the rain.
i sit at puddle’s-edge,
stand on concrete precipices,
lose myself in chimney-smoke and
store-window dust, and
the metropolitan closes it’s doors on
my toe. they say that
this is the type of sadness they make movies about,
the type of sadness now-dead poets thought was love,
so wear it like it’s makeup.
they say that if you float through smog
like an unpardoned angel,
your bones will forget how to stand.
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