In the dream of a cargo plane

Guillotines roll down the street hours after the last tank. My best idea is to wear jeans cut above the knees, show I have the right ankles for salvation. A woman in the bank lobby needs a dollar for coffee. A handful of jets mulch the sky. One jet, she says, has a seat for me. If I make it through the building, there's a hammock out back, a June day full of shade.  

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