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Love’s right now and not
forever: she hates it
when I said that. Because
the muted space, and
grim, glum thoughts:
a baseball,
a necklace,
something cheap but contingent with
the memory. So
whatever happened
to that stupor, the boy revealed
in mean streaks?
He lost a pound, shed
a shack, left her for
the land without objects, in pursuit
of real dimes.