wait, step, wait.

uploaded, digitized, remixed

the system, let’s go on to what we can’t imagine!

these callouses born of disuse, this Disease of inexperience

our children’s tongues are tables of mocking fruit, served up

as the established norm, the given.

forget it, babe, we’ll spin

on a snagging beat and you’ll toss me over your shoulderblades

this three-time catch, how I could know the steps you invented

every

single

time

I caught your hand on the drop.

my, my, my

replay it over, let’s hear ourselves

think, in sync,

I’ll keep pretending I can rap,

you keep pretending you can dance, and that

you’ll write me back.

 

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