Laughing with a surgical grin. Wrinkles cracking the paint on my chin. If I had something to say, I'd have said it. If I had a still-life instant, I'd forget it. Like a graceful train wrecking, it's a beautiful accident just waiting to happen. I can't call for action or cuts. It's too much. I call my hands to the crutch. I've got a motion in flux. I've got time. But I don't have no money or potency.
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