Provisions

rain-street-ripples

these things do not embody
their own apparent reality

and their names likewise, do not
rise above banality

they do make for a good ruse
the wallpaper of memory

an utterance, like a pushpin
the postcards up on the fridge

we hunker down out of the rain
wordless and dry

with soda and saltines, ourselves
apart from the drenching

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