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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
