the idea of one

my friend tells me in the hurried way of the quick shopper

you’re just an idea mate

it makes the trolley skid on the back wheel

I dined on ideas for years

the fogged tits in a mirror

thighs exposed and hilarity

beguiling in an editing room

there was nothing tangible

no one could break

concern was fleeting for we were all ideas

weren’t we? with the clever man, the kind man

the dead man

the fogged mirror

and more lies than a thief

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