the same wavelength, or, low-flown rhetorics

[from:     the Loss Lieder]

color me as in leaden platinum  pretty soon they   the
i hear voices in my head will speak like a laff amputated above the
slow hiding form introspect now, the lack   they insist
it’s a verb a barn burning for the whole family of related
usages   on an island off the wrong shore      in a sequence
off the rung peninsula     nearby,
an odd flame like a clicking           introduce that gap
and pretty soon they’re naming a store after it
being here’s the same as unrealized
is absence is contained in money   or the screen canopy
that keeps flopping over
it says you have to be hidden behind closed
dares           w all the numbers counting our things mmm sold
like for missiles or plot summaries on that far
side     of a glass globe

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