i know that man
at the far end of the bar,
following a star
still shooting
because it can
and things do what they are,
no matter the scar
from denuding.
i know that man
with his stare at his beer,
ballgame in one ear
while the other
is tuned to a band
only that man can hear,
like the siren’s song steers
those who’d make Muse Lover.
I know that man
has something in mind,
a thought that will bind
and pull like a magnet toward
a line in the sand
crossed and signature signed,
Hero thusly entwined
in the backwards in the forward.
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