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if you’re dreaming, are you dreaming of me?
—

it’s the places we walk through
half awake, wearing
neutral pasturized milk smirks
to render us invisible.
the airports
& train stations, the lines
for the tickets agents,
the empty roads
out of focus from carelessness
because we’re never coming back.
the places we don’t love
where we dream our lives
in black elastic
we stretch & stretch
and call it asphalt.
call it the highway out of here.

© LeeAnn Heringer