a penny for Lincoln's thoughts.
(Maybe they should grow copper plants now -- some Abe's face
is in everything everywhere anyway, he spleened)
I wander. Why.
And me down under, deep in the south.
Keeping ideas to myself, and closing my mouth.
You could die down here, become
just another accident statistic,
like Dylan almost did, stuck inside Mobile,
almost caught without a ticket to the deal.
These days I wander shores in tennis shoes
and pledge allegiance
to the Southern Cross, the real deal,
and wonder, ad astra-like,
10,000 miles away, the length of the Great Wall,
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