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The Bike Messenger on Lexington Avenue
Comes to rest
taking a moment
in the falling rain
slowly massaging the
veins at the top
of his bald head
Cracking his neck
while the yellow cabs start
honking behind him
Unwilling to mov
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That was what I said, let's go before it starts raining again. I stand at the window, staring at the downpour outside. Since then the sun has gone down a precise one thousand four hundred and sixty one times.
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I can not tell
you where he went.
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