Sing Soft to The Snail. Sing Loud to The Slug.

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Tap water soaks into the cracks of his lips,
Moisturizes the texture of repetitive dialogue.

A sacrifice.
From the breath of hello
Comes the death of demonstration.
Thus
A prophecy
Is nigh.

He finds paperclips
And light bulbs
Underneath literature.
Underneath Tolstoy.

(Who describes happiness as vainly as he fantasizes about a free world)

On the walls,
Tiny indentures in the paint.
No greater
Than the length
Of a fingernail’s tip.

A scratch to remind
Perfection of Neanderthal potential.

In the stillness of his backyard
Something in the darkness
Laughs like a child during recess.

A playground nostalgia
Glints under moonlight.

Neighbors turn off their bedroom lamps.

Tonight,
What describes shadow
Is movement.

What describes a blink
Is the brief moments of darkness
That exist
Between changing
The TV channels.

What describes life
Is when it all goes dark.

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