Notes on Survival

People have to move around only they’re in cages.

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The man behind me has lost his watch and keys.

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Where there’s an organic saint.

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The nutshells you left won’t sweep themselves.

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If you hold your breath to 100. If you hold your breath twice as long.

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Follow me. Otherwise, devise your own plan.

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The bedside lamp is broken. No, the other one, the one on my side.

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I can’t promise you a lifetime; it’s day by day. How long is too long?

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The forever has stalled.

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The sink has generated its own downward draft like the undertow of an ocean, and there is a leak in the ocean.

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What gave you the idea I’d come to your rescue? We’re not in this together.

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Felt and not seen or scanned and not felt.

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Only what you can.

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Fly low. Lift your arms.

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Yes, the rich occupy a completely different pod. And no, it’s not a real forest.

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The poshest Ralph Lauren store you can imagine only for billionaires.

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A basement where the rest of us.

 

 

 

 

 

John Doe
Poet, Independent Writer
IN CONVERSATION WITH
Ethel Rackin