noise

Soldiers prefer to lose the eyeglasses in the borderland grass.
Music never coincides with their heads, and whatever
Lives in the lakes and the rivers, it drowns
The noise of the stars. The water they drink
Spies on them on behalf of the rats and mice.
Euphoric jalopies disgrace the junkyards far away in the towns
Where loafers play ball on vacant lots with pink weeds
Or give out names to stray dogs
Or eat antique postcards. Life is good.

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