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Sawr a toad on the sidewalk last night,
bathing in the amber lamplight,
looking at nothing and seeing everything:
both paused, considering each other,
but just continued on instead;
toad indifferent and rooted in place,
eyes fixed upon some distant point in space.
The evening hums with cars and buses,
all the neon signs of modern life;
but would instead that I were he,
no one and nothing to be except
a predator of flies, no right or wrong,
just trying to survive.
Instead,
exhausted from nightmares of traversing
series of cramped, labyrinthine tunnels
beneath derelict buildings
in the dilapidated meatpacking district,
wherein a leprous sewer crone sells
biscuits made of charred human bones
and cancer.
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