And what if while two blue veterans of some sequence were whispering and conniving about the young lavender in between their fingers,

I snuck away and crouched down under their prosthetics and let the Industrial lead 

And under her beehive and loose braid and that glass filter of mementos and furious scribbling on dated diner paper

Is a flurry of little blue vases 

And there were Fight Club stamps on the pavement at every step and large holes in time

And a tiny borrowed dress with a tie 

IDEA Associates with bare feet and outdated shots

For the kids