thoughts of you fly by
at seventy two point six miles an hour,
passing your city, which has an exit on the interstate
they approach the green sign marking the tainted idea
a fleeting consideration of such an impossibility as potential
literal acknowledgment of the distance between what was then
and what is now,
on the way to another destination
assimilating with the winds of temporariness
until the sign is seen no longer
and reality is checked
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