the twisting, turning, page flying Dickens,
where you laugh into your pillow before you go to sleep.
couch, warm blanket, bowl of cereal, saturday morning cartoons.
the white of the moon reflected all silver, with blue, blue, blue.
somehow the camera sees past all the worry,
into faces of this pretend life,
and somehow, someway, you just know its going to be all right.
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