What is thirty?

It’s eighty-four leaping out,
Or, twenty-four slipping back.

It’s eighty-seven, years ago,
And you with your rolled up smoke,
And your guitar.

It’s your car
And a rented canoe.

And the smoldering, all in,
Utterly and exponentially,
More than two,
But still one plus one,
Minus one.

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