Pick it
up sometime on a sunny
afternoon.
Cool breeze flipping
the
page. Birds all chiming away.
That
rusty gate. Carpenters pounding,
one
house over. Sounding more like
too late
Sunday morning. Cheap
band saw
in my back yard, building
me a
fence, splaying and popping.
Then the
nails go in, much twangier
than down
the street, much springier.
Then a
hack saw starts on a metal pipe,
over concrete.
All I want to do is sleep.
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