the car is in the heat in the trees in the west wind the
cars are in the people in their brains in the one who types
these chains of command to an officer on the other side of the window
cars are running the air we breathe the shows we watch
cars belong in the car song at every turn of the eye a car
sits and watches a place we call home a place people call cars to
sit and come and sit calm and a sitcom is called to sit and car
door their part with all the humor attached to the slam of the car
part which parts with a car when a car parts with its own despair
outside a car watches me as a bird flies on and tips its hat full of coins
car toothed acrobat dances the street to pieces and pieces of a car
puzzled together to fix and flip glue and resume the car listens
to the parking of itself as it snoozes the lights turn green as a car
passes up and passes on and passes away from and passes
my car with its blue and red lights on

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