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    Don't Think of Others

     

    by Michael Robins

     

     

     

    I had numerous things growing up 

     

    & figured out. My left hand easily

     

     

    traced perspective, multiplication 

     

    fed the number snug inside its box.

     

     

    Mudflows bore cribs from houses 

     

    into bridges & I regularly confused

     

     

    such strange intuitions as audacity 

     

    with living. Scribbled in childhood

     

     

    & sought praise. Respect for letters 

     

    helped until the space shuttle blew

     

     

    confetti everywhere. I was smarter 

     

    than a freeway south, mesmerized

     

     

    inside the billows of flattened cars 

     

    stratified so, then my constitution

     

     

    took a liking to worry. I was reflex 

     

    & urgent, prioritized the future life

     

     

    to fathom how & when best friends 

     

    propelled their yards away for good.

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