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I miss the moshpit pushed to the side of the bed.
The hard and fast rules, the business,
Walking across town the baby’s hand in mine
Gave me anxiety Rosado barely mellowed.
Who doesn’t love to hear about anxiety.
You wouldn’t be too wrong to wake from dreaming
Into an amusement park sluice of Rioja
Eau de post-Auden thanks a lot Timex hubbub.
Those feelings are in their way good luck.
I don’t even need a communion wafer
To feel the need to broadcast imprecations
Fade like a docent as the hedge fund falls.
Source: Poetry (December 2009)