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Keegan Lester

2052 Lincoln Park West

For T. M. 



egrets & wasps.


on the couch pretending


snow, you like to sleep.


the wind: displacing


your body shape.


you like to sleep listening: who thought to


make this the measuring stick


makes us pine        the duplicity of lives


lived versus lives shown


wind between two buildings


squeezing snow dreamy into the park


& then lake & running


as if twenty-year-olds onto a football field,


the slate clean of stars.


toward whatever exists on.


toward the other side of the body


of water, far from


the horned buildings & the stadium power:


the amalgamation of 70,000 people's magic


realism on the television set.


you twist


far from the blinking eye-


lids & store fronts.


you’re an argyle wire fence


& curled up


at the bottom


you let impossible sneak


in & manifest


destiny outward


as the Gulf of Mexico is also someone


else’s sleep & further


someone else’s wake.


each twinkle twinkle little


superfluous shadow growing


across the map of your face.


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