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Still Life
Life is still like this, I gather.
A million paper tomorrows
embroidered with companies'
names constitute part
of the way out of this.
In sum: 9-4, Mon-Fri,
working for the calendar firm;
5-9, Mon-Fri, on the phones,
the city surveyed into
blocks, 4783 001, 002,
003 et seq; 11 or
12, 20.12.93,
crying, slow down. Michael
has his foot on the floor. The engine
riots. This fast and this drunk,
the lights of other
cars are just lines, halogen
streams in your mind.
© Chris Hilliard
1996
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