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it was like two birds
curving about each other, claws extended, screeching
but never touching

like napoleon staring at the sphinx

like the stars just after a meteor
when every dark part around the center of your vision
might yet be another

like bugs bunny in the brief moment he faces the audience
while turning around into the barrel of a shotgun

like steam skating across the surface of a lake
and not like the turtle slipping in

like a stack of firewood that falls over
when no one is looking, like that time in upstate New York
at my dad's cabin

like napoleon sucking on a big red milkshake straw
while down the road a woman in a fur coat walks her poodle
and holds a red balloon

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