i must have been swallowed
last night, broken down and
reconstituted as nothing but waste
i am cold-pressed juice, the
healthy, expensive kind that
tempts you at Whole Foods
or in crunchy bodegas after
obliterating yoga in a city
so large it can't help but
swallow people whole,
put them together as
romantics, idealists
destined for love
that is sharply
impossibly
finite
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