The Signal
a misplaced memory of confirmation
only to spell out disillusion on the fridge
and flood the family to the point of capsizing
with jaws, or rather, pointy teeth,
all the songs from feature films
she sings as she bikes alone, unhelmeted,
hermetically sealed and out of favor,
no shield from a rain that wets the pages strewn across her bed
a snap out of which was a coming-to
breakfast as a sure sign of dawn
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