320

Untag the toes on the wall of placements
either gained through fraud or won with dread fear
of losing one's head in musty basements
with mold and death imperceptibly near:
Five figures, five times, down the same swift chute,
a glistening slide, warm from the slick sun;
a backside burn, and the brain doesn't pute;
it just falls inside itself, like a battle-stained pun:
Friction is fictive; the backslide falls flat
on the sandy pit of youth, first face down;
then the moment of meaning: sandy tears
blocking sun from those eyes that scrape the ground:
Pushing fifty in a vision of hope?
Just clip five toes and laugh at the joke. Dope.

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