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BRACKISH LOCALES MAKE TRAVEL STERLING

In the house all my bells go off.
There are footsteps upstairs,
And when I shave a second hand
Follows my up and down motion.
The perfect stillness
Of objects spinning fast.

I walk into "town." I bring my manners
To the ice cream cabinet.

The car works. There is a barrier
Between me and the happiness I hear
Coming from the tree by the garage,
Forced into the air by a small bird.