D. A. LEVY ant ant ant ant ant five

October 26, 2011 § Leave a comment

Brief Insurgencies

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spanish fly candy

night broken by sniper fire

in the mirror sand

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a good piece of ass

drink ceremonial wine

renaissance space ship

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blue hair in the wind

we pretend is living now

people on welfare

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trembling neon thighs

into the polluted air

death ship restaurant

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no glasses needed

a vow to enter them all

damage chromosomes

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the tribute of skins

temple festivals take place

an outlaw there too

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ordinary death

an air conditioned salesroom

you are impotent

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go make a movie

grotesque costumes and head masks

can i have ten grand?

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benevolent herb

designated in yellow

and the telepath

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morning glory seeds

not good in extension zones

city within me

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and a scorpion

jacking off to commercials

the words of power

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underground traffic

the giant painless movie

phenobarbital

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as soft as the trees

in the sacred galleries

invisible horns

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try to become that

becoming invisible

we hate each other

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an instant nova

it’s a cheaper brand of light

painted voyages

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hello astronaut

your peasant intuition

doors in the forehead

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lines of flesh exposed

the aliens are stealing

springs tattooed on her

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the anemic church

h-bomb your mind library

28 flavors?

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slip away again

an electric circus world

on toilet paper

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no space no distance

records which they set afire

to be greek this year

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next 5000 years

to eat the television

a handful of words

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in your boredom

no light and the eye opens

anonymous check

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nibble at my fly

rapid transit matador

a piece of wild grass

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know the difference

the bull’s ear later in bed

twigs floating on top

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all the sick murders

amphetamine ego trips

cyprus tree and sand

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police say hello

his dinner from the gutter

cold sky of the north

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you can be blown up

creating louder noises

you are located

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cure of obsession

read alice in wonderland

five eyes opening

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price of children drops

the red dragon is being

with your wounds the dance

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a very fine piece

i remember rowed by death

sun called many names

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TOMIZAWA KAKIO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant five

October 13, 2011 § Leave a comment

Scenery In Green Flames

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Cold thunder a single fish slaps heaven

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To cross the strait something vermillion stirs

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Soughing out of my lung a blue butterfly’s wings

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The day honey overflows in bee hives its heaviness

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The shadow merely the migrant birds above the salt lake

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The light turned off oh the heaviness of mercury

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When the snow falls the snow falls quietly nude

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The night the snow accumulates I become a deep-sea fish

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In the evening wind both horse and woman are in the wind

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Night the moon falls I live in the shadow of leaves

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Night the rain smolders I remain closed with petals

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Camellias fall oh this lukewarm midday fire

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Day of pollen the birds do not have breasts I see

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Chickens mate and the sun’s letting mud drip

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Swaying geese come scenery in green flames

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I turn into a snake a drop of water taking a walk

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A butterfly glistening glistening and I darken

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Away in the yellow wind they strip a house duck naked

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Right in the middle of autumn wind a blue shell hole

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Torn clouds here on earth are 15-centimeter howitzers

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Autumn deep clanking our canteens we eat

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Dead ahead clouds glittering forced to cross a river

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There getting wet rain-red is a hand grenade

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Night bandage smudges with blood geese fly honking

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The trench’s belly blood-red in undulating rains

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In the blue sky I hammer a nail that makes a piercing sound

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Deep in my ears I hide a single red machine gun

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Gluing themselves to my retina are mud and muck

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Deep in my chest a gray gun carriage overturns

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I close my eyes and in the void a black horse prances

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ELLIS AVERY ant ant ant ant ant eight

October 4, 2011 § 2 Comments

Latched With A Leek Leaf

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tiny morning glories

piled up on each other

blooming and dying

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my feet like breasts

vulnerable and useless

but less decorative

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on the subway I smell

someone peeling an orange

ten yards away

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cozily dwarfed

by a wall

of lush moonflowers

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menstruating

I stare at pictures

of our dead cat

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caressing her own neck

with the back

of a spoon

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brick wall broken

by fire escapes

on one a lawn gnome

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the dentist takes a mold

cold pink cement crumbs

dribble down my bra

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falling thickly

a flock of sycamore leaves

at night I catch one

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window gingko

last leaf gone

last night I dreamed of cats

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Sunday

on the park railing

someone’s black thong

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vegetable stall

cupboard

latched with a leek leaf

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Saint Mark’s Place

crowded with drunken

Santas

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nightfall all the mirrors

for sale on the sidewalk

offer blue blue

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at the drugstore

balling used tinsel

into the trash

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on the sidewalk

a dozen spilled white buttons

all sizes

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morning

snow melts faster

on the north side of the street

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early daffodils

jaunty

in the cold

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Monday afternoon

on the church steps

fixing her little girl’s hair

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all in one night

the forsythia rolled in

loud and chatty

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not recognizing

my friend

on the corner

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they’ve struck all

their blue-tipped matches

last week’s azalea buds

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alone at night

in the new dress I made

eating Thai food

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grown too fast

the oak leaves

their splayed tongues

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on the hotel

comment card

a dead bug

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in a white dress

she crosses the street

bearing one lettuce

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orange extension cord

snakes up a tree

lighting nothing

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washing

an egg-shaped stone

with dewy grass

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floating glint of metal

in the gingko tree

one of my hairs

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the morning glories

gain the second floor

half a million dead in Iraq

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JOHN MARTONE ant ant ant ant ant eight

October 4, 2011 § Leave a comment

Longer Arms After Picking Tomatoes

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in that blue shirt

fallen scarecrow

could be me

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some pebbles

& some knotted cord

to show for these days

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rained on

just like

white pines

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snail shell left

a thumbprint

in mud

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snow brought

a lot

of light

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his room

a shoebox

diorama

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in time

you’ll fit in

snail shell

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there’s no one else

to gather

these walnuts

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footbridge

where there’s

no one

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white roses

falling

apart

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the white rosebush

doesn’t

need me

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in pine shade

my front steps

collapsing

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cucumbers

climbing

sunflowers

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chicken wire

encircling pink

lady’s slippers

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door frame

fallen

in mint

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sparrow

watching me

drink

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watering pines

brings robins

& wasps

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gourd vine

sharing this line

with laundry

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every starling

in that tree

faces west

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seed packet’s

lunar white

inside

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my face

towel’s

frayed

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my neighbor’s

two chimneys

don’t fall

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green shack

sinking into

weeds

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longer arms

after picking

tomatoes

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every seed

in seed packet’s

fold

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all this time

carrots’ve been

hiding

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a stranger

where garden’s

overgrown

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suddenly

he sees it’s

a slum

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come home

to 3 fireflies

at my door

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tomato bush

tall enough

to hide me

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PAUL M. ant ant ant ant ant eight

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

A Fox Who Knows Too Many Tricks

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Indian Summer

a stick twisted to keep

the spider upright

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rehearsing a lie

the orange brilliance

of a poppy field

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explaining again

our two homes

snow drifts

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gray salamander

a childhood creek

through my fingers

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orange blossoms

years since I’ve been

bare-chested under the sun

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crunch of dried leaves

I am a fox who knows

too many tricks

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old steel town

snow heaped

beside the road

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pebbled beach

she turns away

to breastfeed

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snow begins to fall

the inappropriate things

she says sometimes

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paper white bulbs

the faint moon

in my thumbnail

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red oak leaves

a couple married late in life

holding hands

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moon just full

who drives

my old car now?

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snow-covered garden

a mental note

to wire money

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weekend alone

I lift the ficus

into a larger pot

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hoar frost

the old corner

with unmarked graves

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stairs down to the sea

a dandelion

with seeds intact

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tidal silt

the airport’s wind sock

blowing the other way

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long week’s end

a hint of red

in the pickleweed

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too late to pull it out

the white rump

of a clapper rail

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billion year old moon

an outgoing wave

reveals sand crab holes

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beads of pond water

on a lily pad

the impossibility of sunup

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called home

first crinkled leaves

on the maple tree

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commuter station

a bee lingers

in the tickweed

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rain to the north

a loose rung

on the lookout tower

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office window

they say no two snowflakes

are the same

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all these years later

the same pine bough

wet with rain

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irregular frame

of a tree fort

chimney smoke

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returning geese

her ashes still

in the plain tin

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our old field

each step

releases cabbage whites

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spring morning

flies return

to a crab carcass

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GUY R. BEINING ant ant ant ant ant six

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

The Back Streets Of A Snail

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billboards

pinned to the sleeve

of the highway

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we of one market

one leaf one fruit bin

await flies & rot

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washes whiter

in quiet of evening

dark creak of table

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bring me

the room of

a swollen number

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in mock soup

& fan of turtle shell

sore-kneed Buddha

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offer pictures of mecca

while playing a dangerous

game of marbles

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bubbles that

hear flat skin of

sunfish

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heavy black glove

nearsighted & brusque a bee

breasts pressing mirror

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hand on

soiled number 9

paper off the roll

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order of night

a hyphenated thought

left in onion patch

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inhabit this

the back streets

of a snail

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gets you no further

from nature to circle

the tree in spanish

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white lips powders

space left by stars

fixer

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in glass rooms air

listens to itself covers

of light fall & fold

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a yellow ball from

the women in chairs opens

the crematory steps

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draw space as maximum

silverware in her hair

& shells to eat with

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words burn

a cut above the spine

sitting on divan

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rush hours middays other

times black band around

the sky bright eyes

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the membrane falls

from a table of ferns

stock multi-bodied

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another charred

boat has left

the dock of dreams

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open blossom or

bloom of voice

in insect light

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and invention

nefarious angles in

bitter snow drifts

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and long white wings

the estuary on

its dark toes

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a circle of mirrors

shut out the stars

people don’t know

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breath

the pin as ice pick

buying the night face

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colored sharpness

of wild card in

stenciled parlor car

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go toward

the buried side

of vision

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dire briefness of

lot pocket it even if

it blackens the soul

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the moon is not

a number it is a landfill

a gap in the eye

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on head of mountain

grievous we have maintained

a private clasp

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LEE GURGA ant ant ant ant ant six

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

Adjust The Dimmer

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milkweed flowers as seen on national tv

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dollar not quite as green as the katydid

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an empty beach on the island spring

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tax day outside the post office wild plum scent

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leaves of grass something sticky on the cover

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93 million miles past the adult book store spring sunset

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spiderwort in bloom “i love you” note in the wrong envelope

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phone ringing in the dead of night a cloud of skippers

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white sand beach i fill my pockets then empty them

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after lovemaking rhubarb tarts

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just a piece of wing on the dusty road painted lady

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empty thong where i wonder who

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white chrysalis of salt on the kitchen table

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scent from the letter i adjust the dimmer

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after church a butterfly explodes on the windshield

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night rain putting on my good underwear

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forgotten today by the one true god autumn mosquito

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hardware store smell of gun oil and donuts

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the virgin mary floodwater up to her thighs

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motionless in the wind galvanized sheets bent by the wind

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brought an umbrella for once but didn’t need it

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one yellow dandelion one autumn butterfly

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day of the dead there goes my skirt

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a red plastic whistle in the withered grass

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drifting snow a pair of blue jays in the treetop

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winter solstice careful not to touch my sleeping wife

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farther than the amtrak whistle stubblefields

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the man who never married doesn’t watch

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powdered snow sifts across the county blacktop

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from time to time the dog catches up

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