shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Eaton Jackson

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There is a spacey kind of walking around
within the compression. (two tough little barks)
Found this out after looking for no particular reason
in each other's eyes, oh yea, then stupidly lingering on each other,

Being so repressed(slightly repressed you insist)
We, on tiptoe holding this strangeness in our palms,

To throw it through the window, to remain impoverished
in our run-down, nowhere once long ago, suburb,

Silently we re-button our prisoner's stripes and secure our manacles,
to return to the comfort zone of our emptiness,

To speak esoterically of love
freedom - even independence.

From across the far side of the room our voices are cast,
convincing public speakers.