| in a sweater poorly knit and an unsuspecting smile
|
| little Moses drifts downstream in the Nile
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| a fumbling reply, an akward rigid laugh
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| I’m carried helpless by my floating basket raft
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| your flavor in my mind swings back and forth between
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| sweeter than any wine and bitter as mustard greens
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| light and dark as honeydew and pumpernickel bread
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| the trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead!
|
| as you plow some other field try and forget my name
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| see what harvest yields, and, supposing I’d do the same
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| I planted rows of peas but by the first week in July
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| they should of come up to my knees
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| but they were maybe ankle high
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| take the fingers from your flute to weave your colored yarns
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| and boil down your fruit to preserves in mason jars
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| but now the books are overdue and the goats are underfed
|
| the trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead!
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| you’re a door-without-a-key, a field-without-a-fence
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| you made a holy fool of me and I’ve thanked you ever since.
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| if she comes circling back we’ll end where we’d begun
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| like two pennies on the train track the train crushed into one
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| or if I’m a crown without a king, if I’m a broken open seed
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| if I come without a thing, then I come with all I need
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| no boat out in the blue, no place to rest your head,
|
| the trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead!
|
| do
|
| not
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| exist
|
| only
|
| YOU
|
| exist |