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I’ve got the ambition of my friends
written all over my hands, under my arms, at the soles of my feet.
Those words tho-
invented, aligned, melodious, never unkind.

I wonder did we pass at some point
when time was not binary and a dime could call you home.
At the movies
were you in the bathroom while I at the snack counter?

I think you a key map of Houston
making sure I was the navigator of my own street.
Perhaps knowing
can assure my bones that not knowing is better.

I’d know to forget
that is what I’d say to myself if expanding time imploded.
After all,
we can only turn eyes inward and an iris doesn’t dilate for past or future.

The present is a wonder
with those hands under my brain, lifting each letter to my autonomy.
We’ll write together
crafting what advises us to keep minding the hand’s advance.