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I was a quick, wet girl
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I was a quick, wet girl Diving too deep for coins All of your street light eyes Wide on my plastic toys Then when the cops closed the fair I cut my long baby hair Stole me a dog-eared map And called for you everywhere Have I found you, Flightless Bird; Jealous, weeping? Or lost you, American Mouth; Big billed, looming? Now I’m a fat house cat Nursing my sore, blunt tongue Watching the warm poison rats Curl through the wide fence cracks Pissing on magazine photos Those fishing lures thrown in the cold and clean Blood of Christ mountain stream Have I found you?, Flightless Bird; Grounded, bleeding? Or lost you, American Mouth; Big billed, stuck going down
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