we played ourselves, the plastic people with perfect-curve factory edge. we slept ourselves into the future awoke strained and stiff and wrong. we drowned ourselves in a small cup of dirty blue water.

beside the road dangling fingers from hand resting on knee forearm across thigh and stealing the night with your tamed(torn) bear eyes. free in the line of ants march march march, watching.

standing in the road now cars stopped either side you are arm-raised-pointing toward a star that is dying and they are angry because so many tired little lives are waiting for a reason to care about this fading white-yellow light. you don't notice because you are only pointing to keep your balance as the world spins too fast when your eyes are locked into one little piece of universe.

fallen. the star. you. and now we stay for the world to move a little further for the ground to spin again for the little cup of dirty blue water to seep into the soil (we forget how to drown when it is all over). there is this time for a pupil to rest before the movement begins and we called it like a river because we are funny little creatures.

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