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taoist head on a stick

the music follows you everywhere
& everywhere you go
people mistake you for abel's brother
head frozen in that split second
when the right profile is called for
& stepping lightly
because you were bred for better things
the phone book feels fatter
than you remember
your fingertips are numb & revolutionary
this is the distance once dreamed
under the crush of presence
something brushes against muscle
something not yet pinned to showcase
breaking all known physical laws
a clean break from sacred heart
you'd like to imagine
feathers of a new identity
but the clothes you're wearing 
fit too damn right
& you always stay
at least one sentence too long
an archeological ribbing
that can't be laughed off
forensic caricature that redefines
the weight of proof, burden of numbers
false rapture that knocks the wind
right out of you
graceful orgasm like a painted sunset
prettied up & priced to sell 
because "small death"
seems extreme, even oxymoronic
you could no doubt mimic
your way through ritual
but cover versions rarely get it
& you can't seem to wash your hands
of idealism
though you've tried & tried
poke at your reflection
watch self ripple away
& proclaim yourself healed
it's that easy

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