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  • What is it that constitutes a moment?
    Is it that layering on of this and that
    until we are saturated and have to leave
    to move, to lurch restlessly off,
    in search of another one?

    Is it when I turn my head towards,
    or away,
    from the lady on the bus,
    with the disfiguring scars?

    Is it elastic?
    The moment, is it elastic?
    Can't you stay with me
    on this for
    a bit?

    When we rolled the car
    like an itchy dog in the
    ditch beside the field,
    it seemed to last a long long time.

    When I'm waiting for you to
    say yes or no,
    the moments bend and
    lose all sense of themselves.
    They act like children
    standing up to recite in French
    having not prepared.
    Those moments, those errant, feckless and
    rebellious moments -
    Fuck, I love them.
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