you bring me every wheel you can find.
the horses have long gone to drink juice boxes.
everything is one fire & i no longer want 
to put it out. i want to win something. 
we wear laurel crowns & sit criss-cross applesauce
on the front lawn of a dictator's house. 
when we say the code word "gold" we know
it's time to bury our hands. nothing to see here.
the time will come to race one another 
for the basket of half-rotten strawberries. 
i will win & eat them all myself. i have 
a chariot to keep alive. i can not be sorry. 

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