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speaking to strangers on the internet i find
that we all cry in the same direction which makes trickle-
down which makes a demand for boats so
i float on my therapist’s couch and unpack my absences
asking what can i profit from these tight days and she metaphors
and i love you ange but jesus christ i am sick
of the figurative train the reasons the seasons
the forevers when i can pin on a map the exact date
i changed when a man on the internet asked for my a/s/l
and i was too honest but he stayed which told me he was
the timeless kind of broke that can’t turn
over i mean i was fourteen he was twenty
we were both on the brink of dying 
and that was when the static started
when i knew this strange unity would never
leave i would type it gets better i would not tell him
my plans i would just listen to his about
drugs or a bridge mine would be a car crash
into a fat telephone pole or sinking in the deep
end of my parents’ pool and no i would not repeat what
i had learned in my eighth grade social studies
class we are sad and uneconomical