Capable iPods,
you all need to know:
I do not carry your serial or tone.
When I search:
Looking for the full smile of the moon and it's silver palms.
Calling autumn's song through my window.
Orange rings with the cold endings.
Counting fingerless gloves through the branches.
Breath of Salem, hogging the weightless brooms above.
When I nosedive:
near the vertical lines,
the practice of joy labeled.
Runs September.
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