tiger woods is crying
a mess i had wanted is
not a mistake
clothes crowd the floor in dark colors
limp like a body would disturb them
everything stays in the present tense
a tremble set to song and with no melody
hummed from boredom
imagine a bomb that disperses no cloud
or that rainwater has no taste
an orange shirt flexed at the lip of
a suitcase is now an exit
imagine another thing
stop
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