outside it is eighty-nine degrees
at midnight twenty-three
I am accustomed to tethering
experience to innocence
motel walkways always hold
the day's heat
sheltering the body from mind
light and the moon
cools postlude of a free form
summer where and ice machine
scuffles raw data
whining behind chrome
I hear a man's voice
in a mild drone
capsulizing the subtraction
of idea to allow the soul
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