who knows if the moon’s
a baloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky—filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
 
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their baloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
 
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
 
always
            it’s
                   Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves

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Ana Robles
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