but we're in the shallows
the sound of the school bell
is no call for the gallows
i bet my hand and won
in the summer of the train
the forest flames licking
the pine and barbacoa men
taking time in swamp-dry caves
to get their flavors right
i bet my hand and lost
in the spring of hanging
birds and broken bikes
along the street where we
fought to see a world
so worth the fight
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