Lookers sit in a row.
against a fence.
they are staring at you silently.
they hold mirrors mockingly.
your sign reads.
i am home, i am whom?
in the reflection you see
what you recall.
a tree in a field,
the angle of tall grass against the wind in a landscape of all the same hue.
the sound of a passing train.
of passing trains,
The flash of a city.a white out.
and after the explosion or explosions,
the angle of tall grass against the wind in a landscape of all the same hue.
and it goes like this...
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