Under the crystal blue sky
with a chair back
as loin cloth I take my
leap off the curb and into
rush hour traffic, the
cops are gone, tired of
wasting their fleeting hours
sitting at the corner
of Broad and Ritner,
I'm running to the opposite
side with a hockey stick in
hand, I'm conjuring the ghosts
of the past, the little time I've got left.
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