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Lone Ranger



Undervaluing the world in its entirety in the cool breeze from the hot dog

Stand he wonders if a woman could ever satisfy him, would she have the

Power to make him happy that the kindly, satisfied, veteran women

And the marching clouds understand. He rips his paper in half pretending

It's a heart.


Later, in the hot breeze from the ice cream stand he curses the variety of

The world which enthralls him and, turning in a circle, wonders if he

Could ever make a woman truly happy, make her live in some sort of

Perpetuity that the kindly, spent men teach and the oceans understand.

But the world, he thinks, is not particularly kind. The leaves sweep across

The chasms, the air balls into a fist. He races across a parking lot of

Yellowing, dried-up chances.


And winds up muttering beneath a sooty trestle, oh bring me home now,

Midnight star. Suddenly the demons with the endless party invitations

Rear up, he fights them off with mundane decisions, his tears splash at

Their feet, dumb offerings. He’s crying for some way to become human

In this heat, to drive the song from his heart into his mouth, to drop  

Pretenses and evolve into something more than a flesh hunting asshole

Robot. He wonders if he could ever make himself happy, that

Manuals teach as the first step to love. However no one really

Understands this but the earth. Yet the earth is smug and satisfied with

Itself, for love does achieve its purposes, there are billions of us despite

The pain. He lies on the ground in a meadow in the quiet breeze from

The moon that burns his eyes as ludicrous tears fall from them like

The squalor of all his least favorite, loneliest words.




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