Three democratic tunes:

we should march to them on election day–that

would be singing something.  I am

older than you, you who are older than them.

Syllogize this, wide-mouthed.  Being vocal

is a calling.  The tonal is a floored model.  Then

rebounds, damaged.  I cannot rest

in the forest.  That’s not what it’s for.  I take

the boat acrostic.  Words muffled under

board, in bunks, rolls, waves.  One laughs.  The foot

of democracy is privileged. Liberty sandals and

swells. Also, wears a worryless hoodie.  Spiked,

the shuddery punch each other in revolution

or dissonance.  Why is all this

unfettered play desirous of rules? The over-

ruled desire no.  They huddle, save

breath, speak what is deemed most necessary.

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