S[hopping a round]

There’s a mo-

meant when time stops for a

meant mo’;

it’s a beat away from a

heart-

beat you lost, much to

your Cost-

a; and across the way you now

snap easy Ed, and

earlier in the day Nero and

Ash, and now having 

lost the heartbeat

you loved, the rounds you

do buy yourself,

and it’s fun:

and why not;

and why can’t being 

alone be quite hotter

than hot?

Why must you feel

less than a

couple of beers sitting

together, apparently

accompanied in their 

dearest

solitude?

Why wouldn’t you love

the presence of your

self, now truly 

it’s your

self you’ve

just gone and loved?


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