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Fitting key to the door with the locks without number,
door to the frame of the story without ending. Actions
to motives unclear and unspoken,
the path to the file that the future has stolen.

Screw to the hole you could drive a semi through,
brakes to the lines cut in a hurry. Hurtling
slowly, destination unchosen,
the fate in the plan the present has frozen.

And each to the other and on into summer,
heat to the pan already in fire. Here
with a key and a door that won't open,
a map on my knee and my strategy chosen.

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