when i
got through
there
weren't words
for a red helicopter
ten feet above the beach strip
or mr. edison, homeless
there with his sack full of electronics
and post cards to sex
jumping
from transit to alley
i found these fake roses
in the sideways split
between shoes and theft
where police wandered in
and a seven foot white man, bald
lifted me from the heavens
and out
back down to grimy steel hell
with an assault rifle
in an old suit
worn fight
awoken
like Joan of Arc
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