As a boy my dad lit his leg on fire and they
did a graft where no hair grows. A man sings
for my neighbor's building's intercom. I want
to say the leg don't fit in such slick skin. Shiny
state's shape down the side calf. My phone
slips across the floor. Look I might call to you,
you rare thing. Or to the muddy lake I think's
an ocean. The sea we'll never lose ourselves
in. You drive the highway and a white line
skirts your shoulder. Long stretch on a
sunblonde strip.
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