my brother
mixes colored water
mid june excursion
in the making
we go smoke
leaks from our rough
nostrils clean t shirt gets stained
when he cuts his hands
on knew concrete
lends me quarters for the fourth
july sings quiet songs
crickets make sound
stains on the growing midnight
I say the stars barcode
names quiet and nurse his bloody
hands with cold clear
alcohol tightens my lips
around a telephone your number
is gone out of that town now
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