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electric thingI'm made of bits of song and paperclips
Whalespeak and stars and a touch of magic.
Sprinkled with sugar and a lot more of sea salt,
We are never quite empty but never quite whole.
It was well-meaning but useless in the end.
I have subculture reflected in my eyes and windmills stuck in my teeth.
And as the lights go out, all I can say is
(With faerie dust on our tongues):
"There is sugarcane under my skin and stories under your shoes."
I wish it could've been more-we were the story of the year.
(If you mean the kind that sits on bookshelves and gathers dust.)
You have a map in your pocket. Fifteen dollars and a lifetime;
Adventure in your freckles and flutes in your fingertips.
I take my mug to my lips and without looking at the script, I add,
"Have fun, electric thing."
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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