the fossil record

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Here

Each time that I'm most legally myself,
I ride these windblown loops & jump

These broken rails: my Sincerity,
My Consent, my Solvency or Insolvency.

Again, the same weak thrill of doubt
And buried fantasy hovers at my elbow:

Do I look cramped? Do I look insane?
Could I do this on the skin of a baseball?

R. S. Deese