Imitate My Imitation

And there are two lone lover shoes

I strung on the arching black

lines, in that moment it was wonderfully over, but just beginning

the soft tracing that leads us back

to the start, for you are an imitation of me,

which is wickedly kind like cold metal and cruelly chaotic

for we don’t know how to

pause, we don’t know because we

speed up to slow up, and we break and bruise and bumble

until they grab our shoulders and

stop us in our tracks.

An imitation of life, he whispers with

eyes ahushed, aglow, but seemingly

burning, ablaze, afire like that one

trashcan we once threw our dried up matches

and our one two threes into, and

honestly we, us, You, set that into a programmed

explosion of light ruled down from forces far

wiser and older than we.

Have you felt a whispering so sincere

that your heart beats fondly in your chest, and you, yourself, you can feel the

fall just as sharply in your metal bones as him with his

cop cars and marrow and mead?

Curse him with your deviled tongue and

jerk your pebbled red thing back quickly now

from the still-beating x-marks-the-spot, because it is a

talon, a trick, a trade well mastered

and what we give away with scabbed paws can never be taken

back.

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