15 September 2008

77 ǀ de’pouille

Gilbert is a part of my yore:
rivers, & speakers too, crocodiles—
Ss tonight ladies & gentlemen.

Not here, not here,
& so be it Heineken & me—


First of August 2008,
without her.

Dehydration mother, & gasping.

This life really is oh so cold & scary.

[How can one imagine otherwise?]

My friend, woebegone,
well, she doth play
the fiddle.

She likes the looks of the shimmering pond
it’s true, but then there’s them goose droppings—

godforsaken goose droppings on a hot day in July
by the dock. Chalk. Stomp. Stump.

The best kind, splattered.


I can tell you that we have inattentive matters.

Believe me:
for once.

Step aside.

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