The coffee was steaming when Doc took off his wig
we didn’t even know he was wearing.
We found a hat within a hat.
Two years before, Lorca shredded me
with a flower stinking like an overripe melon.
That was for I thought I knew better.
Another hat emerges and someone kicks it.
It hurts, like reading a poem with an understanding,
an oar passing over the water, dripping in an orbit
only a few astronomers can comprehend.
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