Backwards Binoculars

Oh, how far soon feels

Memories are freshly barbecued

Moist upon the grittle of my mind

The windshield smeared me like a bug

With windshield wiper arms

Oh, how far soon feels

Through backwards binoculars

Oh, desire for you

As soon as soon allows

Within the rooling boil

That never seems to stir

How unsure to touch

For fear that it will burn

How thick the pea-soup fog does grey

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