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Are we always compelled into rebellion
by the backside of a magnet? Always
keeping just far enough away

I recoil as from flame,
from cold air,
from anything too much like absolutes, like netting.

Letting myself be still just long enough
to have my edges drawn
in chalk on the pavement then
jolting into contortions to prove it
all wrong.

In some mild way I will be other than. Be bolder
than I was before, but meekly...
barefoot in November.