(round up)
Fallen into tomorrow
and woke up ten
years ago with
the stockings on the
ground collecting
Candy canes and the
distillery compound.
Eleven sounded like
a good multiple of
seven, and a half.
Paternal dryness for
a better life, an ampersand
slide three blocks
down the side-slope.
Irony with a face but--
Figure traits do not
have electrostaticity
high enough to pile,
accumulate on top
of yestermorrow.
Tow the two weeks
until the pavements
see rain, a collecting
duct inside my kidney.
Don’t forget to carry
the (twenty) one.
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