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sitting befuddled at her telephone,
uncertain who she means to call
her dial tone is a tiny car,
its driver asleep at the wheel.
on these broken nights
rest comes late or not at all,
her thoughts gets lower, rougher,
one more day, she tells herself.
it comes, the mercyof empty places
her mind gives out like headlights
over darkened water, and
she holds the receiver closer
the phone a belly full of numbers
sparked and glowing, a far alarm
pulsing in her hand.