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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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Saturday, 22. June 2002

THE ILLUSION - Dean Young


Consider our mad loves: J's for B that he only knew after she ripped out the hook. Smell rain and whose name do you say? G and R seem okay but A's ripping the cover off T's book, the cashier then asking if he'd like a damage discount and who doesn't deserve a damage discount? The heart itself apparently can be eaten, singed on a bed of baby greens. Half step, half step, clap, throw the hive upon the lap. A silver head floats in the corn. At least M has his daughter. A silver head floats at the portal. Like a dried gourd, the rattle K makes. The dream bread falls through the dream hands. Two seconds it took you to do what you did to me. Here's a breast, an eye. Here's a necessity. Flinchclatter dovespun sundrove heartsprung and sometimes the wreckage assumes recognizable shapes. Sure it does. Touch this. Maybe your father was right to hate me. I was running as fast as I could. Maybe faster. Forever and forever and forever




Big Book Of Poetry

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