Then we cannot walk the same street.
You’ve stolen them all, and lines, and reality.
Give them back whole and firm, unchange them.
Or pick just one (others will result). Return it.
Come down from there, I promise
Your face will dry, (or the streets
Will sweat in you. You need balance, double yellow)
And will harden into a smile, your seismic mouth
filled through with cement.
Do not call a street irrational
Nor unreliable. Call it bare if you wish
Stockholm upon it, but if you leave with it, forget
Its black seal behind in your getaway.
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