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Whatever it is that a poem tries to open Or inky incantations will I wish to remind you of lazy machines Once called mornings They were all these things and less, and expectation was everywhere. I bought an amber reading light. It cuts out the blue My night ritual is curling up early, warm around the torso, and air about the legs Breathing. Thanks. Amber lets the melatonin grow, the sleep cycle settle, And I dream in ways I do remember. I remember California heat cracks half-built outskirts A coconut grove where an academy award went to mary pickford Soft power, enjoying itself, things seemed less literal. lazy amber california standards in Chevrolets, bellboys and raisin bran. And soon I rise and come back, where woke goes to die For bare real estate and machine-gun headline Looking for somebody with the same expectation in their eyes With an inch of the same smile. Was it the sun, so different then as a lung is the expectation of air Her satin shorts legs to butter fear and be God