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Jim Kacian, USA

lost in space

Boole drives the hairpins leaning into the curves without turning the wheel

mountain switchback headlights out in the stars

Möbius sings with the radio sticking in the loop 'lululululu' of the refrain

well there goes the border from Austria to Hungary

Klein swigs rakija from his bottomless bottle staining the front of his scoop-necked shirt

humid night the brown paper bag tears through

and I'm in the back seat rattling with the empties at every bump

for my birthday one more trip around the sun

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