About the town, scribbled in note pads, passed around,
a friend share, frequented until the blinds become dusty,
the plastic plants sag and the news cycle wraps round again
a small glitch where the loop forms and what was
once recorded takes on the patina of days and days before
and what is to follow, the perennial hope that there
will be something more to be recorded before
this space becomes fabric and the locals glower,
close ranks make it theirs and theirs alone.
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