why do I look at myself as if for the last time?
it is not as if I shall cease to exist after all
as the plane touches down on the runway
and kicks up the dry hot sand, nor is it likely
that my skin shall slip right off my bones
and lie in a crumpled heap on the dust
to be replaced by my patchwork suit
that coat of his desires and her dreams
of their perceptions and those crazy scenes
so why do I feel as if I need to say goodbye
to that slightly left of center me?
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