You take pictures of yourself 

When you’re alone

Being in both places at once


How to hold yourself

That’s yet 

To be worked out


Movies speak to you

Songs sing in your ears

Dancers press against your body


(If you could only do

Something with your hands 

There’d be less to worry about)


What was skill was maybe luck

Sense of possibility merely youth

The aristocratic impulse lingers, however 


It’s not something 

That can be easily

Kicked out of you 

◄ Captives

The Perfect Death ►


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