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jg-reposh
American There's too little to say.
notes, when we walk easily and lowly on an avenue, with a camera, with two hearts we see and we have seen it     we breaststroke through a night so     dark and slovenly as to turn a sunrise purple     to red, ashamed books, when we love properly when we speak slowly to better hear the dripping of a warm and raining noon     there was nowhere left to go for us     coolly dryly, bookish we sat     and to a boyish morning, hurtled will we sit again, as we walk will we again open those books and laugh
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Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
there was nowhere left to go for us
I sat today, in between of two concrete blocks light came pouring                  from the bus circle I was sitting down and I was calmly and I was calmly        nearly      tired like from the obtuse dream from an earlier night couldn't    hear much other than   birds and voices
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Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
from an earlier night
I like to think that you like to think of me sleeping or smiling the ceiling fan whispers to me that you do your letters your pictures scatter my desk whether I read them or not they’re all over but it’s not all over even if I am alone I have that to be thankful for; that I may silently wordlessly think of you and thank you
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Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
I like to think
gun in hand hands bound are bound to dream finding one seam to rip apart open and leave what are ballots but bullets ready squeeze squeeze it you faceless **** you, through teeth gritted and jaw working, white knuckle got-up buckled up safe you show me how dirt really tastes because you always ever knew that ballots are bullets binding ready to sunder me
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Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 6:37 PM UTC
gun
a man spoke softly rarely never painted pictures only etchings; creeping flaking soft white space slender, black loose he never spilled never toppled what was this man what was it made him what hour poured him forth what pastel day of which year molded this man; cursed him to place him among hyenas
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Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
a man
Time is found_______you will__________by electric and lost__________need help__________blankets inside of the_______to do this__________stirring space between___from a surgeon____beneath harsh particles that_____of affection______fluorescant light will never truly____of affliction_______and skin softer be measured._____of headspace______than the love Yes:____________and gutterlove______that I grant time is inside______who will pay___________it: of us._____________you for___________I will seep it is carried________the time___________into your within us as______(s)he takes________spaces; your if we were________out of your__________time will vessels or________skin because_______be my time ships or___________really it is__________and we aeroplanes.________your loss_________can't forget To stop___________your eyes________what happens time is to__________your hair__________when we remove it__________your sex_________think about from yourself_______and your_________time, lovely to steal it___________love.___________time time from the___________Warned:_________time time bonds of your_____true children________time time flesh and__________enveloped________time time
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Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:54 PM UTC
affliction
outside a woman shouts at a man beside her apparently she: always giving he: always taking - she walked into performance shouted over the music, friends stumbling drunk - noted: string hung from a wall that looked paintingless.
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Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:48 PM UTC
outside a woman shouts
waiting for water to boil in the dark, and the moon did sweep under me as flame atop stove does curl beneath kettle and I was struck by a whispering of the birds of my tears cat standing beside me so high rose I so low I fell and then the beauty was silent and blue and the only utterings were a flame atop a stove so bring me tea bring me coffee so I may see and lift the kindred hearts from beneath the soil and let me beseech them this: love unto me as only I will as only I can as only I am
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Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:32 PM UTC
waiting for water to boil in the dark
there are shapes in the trees that I could never describe to you and I want to and the sounds in the breeze that feel the same and if you open my window I might be able to show you, tell you about the calamity of my eyes and ears and the sun may slide across the carpet across your toes, filling you or us with a locomotive heat like closing eyes to the rolling of thunder open the window so I can see the trees, so I can hear the wind my sand in an hourglass
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Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
by a folk song
coming from nowhere how could I deny feel otherwise and be apart from the heat of your morning glory.
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Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
morning glory