An Instance of Love

          Reader, it doesn’t matter what you think

happened to those wheat fields

reaped by the slow

              threshing of steel.

I wouldn’t consider the possibility of mice.


              Nor would I remember a childhood disease,

      a drop-off point,

                         or even the multicolored

                                  ball pit

                                          of ketchup and syringes.

People on couch
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