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A Melody, a Simile

Like the flaky lead

in a No. 2 pencil, like

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a free lunch, like the shadow

from a 200-year-old New Orleans

oak, like a wad of peanut butter

lodged on the roof of some

little boy's mouth, like a falcon's

feather floating in a Kansas wind,

like a grieving groan from

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tired clouds, like the smile

of a thousand Studebakers

going south, like, like ...

like everything, like something,

like nothing.