My difference roots around behind my eyes
what I see and you don’t is your loss with a sniff
the mattress across the hall opens like I imagine
clamshell opens with a touch of the sea and choreography
contemporary to me but unleashes your contempt  unfurling
your curling lip, sharp tongue and snapping teeth spit
out  all between “she’s no artist,  she’s a nurse 
like the rest of us, carrying your shit packed in a bed pan.”
Yeah, I figure, I won’t look back  just dream and fly by night. 





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