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                                    Keetje Kuipers

You get high, I’ll have a drink. They’re just words,
same as sediment, same as palpate. Let’s make

something small to steward together, one

little saxophone player with a reed
in his mouth. You can grow thin and still be

yourself, coax a beard and button your coat,

while I’ll keep wanting it all: every man
and woman I meet. But we’re done

throwing chairs at people we don’t really

love. Hand me that bottle, kiss me goodnight,
spin me around our old kitchen.

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