| An astronaut lost his ring finger to the back of a grain truck
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| and I can’t stop thinking about it. |
| I’m thinking about it.
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| Thinking about it, I’m thinking about it.
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| Isn’t everything strange?
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| Buildings as brick boxes to be opened,
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| turned sideways and cracked.
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| Except the what? |
| that is inside is much too fluid, too fast.
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| The you and I that spiral past the windowsill,
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| the fire escape is on its back,
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| watching us swallowed up in the blue and green.
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| Flaring in the air with the vapor trails from all the first pages.
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| The same two color contrails that twist around every other color left crowded
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| out.
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| A record played. |
| The lights go out.
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| The Cineplex screen presents new strangled spectrums.
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| What we mean swallowed up in the blue and green.
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| 1979 in a field with a bloody thumb.
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| Alone with the whir of the grain wheel hum.
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| Ten years since he saw us all.
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| He came back to never look another in the eye the same way again.
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| He walked inside, put his finger in the ice, and didn’t flinch at all
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| He came back to never look another in the eye the same way again.
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| He walked inside and put his finger in the ice.
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| He walked inside, he didn’t flinch at all. |