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Spontaneous bar poem #17,443 (with half-remembered fragments and some editing)

March 11, 2022

dwelling on entropy
and then its hidden opposite
– the conversations held in other rooms,
other human worlds created by other human souls

the air is full of memories, and the
cliches of popular song seep under the door
and through the cracks

wearily earning weariness
so it can be shelved next to tomorrow and next week

self sliced up
like pizza
is vulnerable to
a sentimental line
especially when
she shows up in
blips and squarks
leaving me
thirsting for rain
or wine
predictably

too much real world
makes the revelations run thin
a week like a cascade of marbles
rolling like dice through determinist thought experiments

where, I wonder,
is the Society for the Preservation of the Daydream? 
the office is closed,
the sign on the door says: back in the spring

to be the light
to ride the wave
to introduce Lorelei Lee
to Peter Falk
at a Scott Joplin recital
to make the unlikely happen
to escape the tedium of the likely

what if the tribe is never found?
a common story but one I’ve dodged
like it was said: finding my feet on different streets/
by letting them follow my nose
once seemed pretty unlikely, to be frank

I may not have been born on the Bayon
but I found my way here

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