This Flat Tire And Skill
I am flatly two, functioned by nobody's theory of brother
The levels of which stands to equal a lion's
View of stairs by the bicycle
That refuses braving the brown flat it owns.
I am pressed by 2 and 4. 6. 7. Then I picture the symbol for
That click. That picked, unmnemonic caution for dysfunction
Of reveille out to mark where I'm to speak
Before I am no longer just an asset of lint and graphite
Before Worcestershire deserves new owning
As all that could be the new format for Now
We Face The Facsimile Of Facetious Facile Facets Of Skill.
Labels: bicycle living, how to live alone, Sylvia Plath
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