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 Sep 2020 CK Baker
Lawrence Hall
Abandon your book, says that Fresh Young Voice
Abandon your work, says that Fresh Young Voice
Abandon your life, says that Fresh Young Voice
And line up with me, says that Fresh Young Voice

I am now your book, says that Fresh Young Voice
I am now your work, says that Fresh Young Voice
I am now your life, says that Fresh Young Voice
And do as I say, snarls that Fresh Young Voice

We heard that Fresh Young Voice so long ago
Whispering to us about a certain Tree
There is properly a caesura before each occasion of "snarls that Fresh Young Voice" in the first two stanzas. The program botches the formatting.
 Aug 2020 CK Baker
Wk kortas
It was the night of the thundersnow,
Meteorological harpie normally reserved for our northern brethren.
She stood grimly at the window,
In wait for a dawn which would not come
Save for the odd light, the incongruous rumbling,
Mock forbearer of those easy languid evenings of August.
She'd made some noise approximating a sigh,
Then returned to undress,
I hurriedly unlacing my boots, removing my pants,
(My feigned nonchalance a foolish, pitiable thing)
And I remember her ******* as  oddly demure,
Her ******* bewitching gumdrops,
The triangle below her waist downy, almost kittenish.
I'd broken her maiden clumsily, eagerly, all unheeding haste.
We'd lain next to each other for a short while afterwards
(The schools already closed for the next day,
Her father recently gone to the boneyard on Ludlow Hill,
She soon to be shuttled off to some spinster aunt in Dillsboro.)
I'd nattered on about summer vacations and thens and laters;
She'd said little, simply studying me with the bemused half-smile
One saves for sad dreamers not intimate with the knowledge
That notions of tomorrow and forever are strictly for suckers,
And as I strolled home come mid-morning,
The sun implacably straddled the sky,
Leaving the sidewalks and shoulders of the road
Completely dry, as if the night before had been a thing
Of perhaps-only, of dreams and tales for a later time.
Do you need to read r's original to read this piece? Not necessarily, but it would certainly help.  Do you need to read r's original?  Without question.
Forgive me if I stare
Your celestial body is alluring

The beauty of your eyes,
rob me of words to say
The warmth of your smile, paralyzes my hands so I can’t sign

Forgive me for yearning for you,
For having you is forbidden.
My eyes see you as Juliet to the Romeo I am,
Forgive me, for the sin we are yet commit.

Forgive my mind for losing restraint at the striking site of you,
I stare at your lips, and my mouth gets watery at the wonder of it’s taste.

Oh blessed river, forgive
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