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Condensed Milk for Grown Children

42 is only the answer
if you're a computer
and I'm a programmer

I do not operate on logic, but
a frothy mixture of rivers
of meager compounds
carving canyons
where what matters
least resists

Weened and toothless
false and prophetic
I drink it straight
from the jagged can
whose lip meets mine
for another forced kiss

The power blows out, but we leave it off
pretending so hard not to care
that we accidentally mean it
achieving nirvana