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  • Black hair like a wave
    Drifts past all the dead flowers
    And newly grown buds
    Past the metal skycrapers
    Grinning dollar signs in the blinding sunshine
    Palm trees, stretching like claws
    Enveloping the streets and sidewalks in a handful of skinny bones
    Above the ground,
    Not near tall enough to touch the clouds.
    The black hair hurries down the stairs
    Slips into her seat
    And falls against the window,
    The raven hues of her hair matching the passing tunnel.
    Her music isn’t loud enough to block out
    The screeches of sadness the subway rails make
    As the train rambles
    Along the same old track
    It passes through every day
    And she wonders
    Why it hasn't wanted to veer off course?
    And like the waves
    She moves and retreats like she is told
    Commanded by the moon
    This way
    And that way
    Right back to where she started
    To the dead flowers and new buds
    Never straying off course
    Just like the ocean
    Which is always there
    The waves just continue to roll in
    Small
    Sometimes big
    Commanded by the face of the night
    Always in and out
    In and out
    Never any other way.
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