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The Massachusetts smokestacks pass me
slowly,
The sun a weary Argonaut
Returning gently home with a yawn.
Various chords shouting from our speakers
And our nurtured chatter
Make a humble welcome.
Watching the blue ink sky emerge
From a car window,
We beat our lives into the dashboard,
Drumming along to the rising light
And the hush of the cars
On Route 20.
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