Maybe there was nothing extraordinary about me,
but I wasn't ready to throw in the towel,
there was something to tell there,
to say,
about the man in the high tower,
behind the fountainhead,
and the cement fanning,
in front of the seafoam drapes,
at an oak resolute,
and there was inclement weather,
and Black Wednesday on the move,
what if we could only go back,
and that certainty wasn't ordinary,
not at all---
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