Notes Post-Crisis
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Notes Post-Crisis

Among the rust and bricks of our own local shamble,Officer Pepsi capped the tank and sang gently, as ifSinging were the only way to dance around and askance.

If our spinning Terra were blinking in the eye of blueCocks, blue guitars, blue letterboxes, blue analogies,If time were spinning south, would you then yield?

Feeling some sort of responsibility, Officer Pepsi siftsAnd shuffles all that blue rubble into ten foot drifts.Cocks seem to crow. Analogies seem to yield. Seem. [End Page 249]

Chris Bolster
Moodus, Connecticut
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