that I can only see you
from the countryside.
In the city I long for
The Plough.
In the city I long for
lying on damp grass
palms upward
looking at the stars.
Have your palms been read?
They should be.
Their calloused tips would aid
the most amateur fortune teller.
And the good ones would wonder
Why on earth you bite them till they bleed.
My hands have never been bitten.
The nails grow long and I pick out
the dirt and eat it.
Tube dust and salt from old peanuts.
I munch until my nails are clean enough
to advertise fairy liquid.
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