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There Goes The Baker

The echoes in cartoons, The sermons in static, How every chorus begs us To wake, or vanish. Maybe God is a director. I don’t know. But the script is too perfect, And the extras too hollow, Like the background forgot How to breathe on its own. There goes the Baker. Popping pills in his blue buggy with one red ball and another blue dangling from the rear view.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things