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on the daily the sweet spot rounds the corner cruises down the hill flows with the breeze rises up and down again back into me
when I’m in Wellfleet none of this matters. The bitches, the disses, the over-zealous snitches. The side glances and miserable stares. The jealous rods of hot shit air. by the sea, it’s just you and me. So meet me there.
throat coat tea. baseball. my black dog. my toddler, awaiting me to brush his teeth. stairs, await us to climb. the fan is still. Sunday creeps to a close.
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