Dead Shoes

I step in dead shoesclay feet with toes of stonebones grind beneath my feet I stand and pause between pacingsa

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Symbiosis

I tilt away from hearing her as she explains her nature as though it were a theatrical arrangement to a

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Of Raw Quality

I am an onion beneath the surfacea bulb petrified by the flashI think myself into faceinto attentioninto mass reflectioninto oblivious

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Wound to the Clock

Blinded by the clockcounting dollarsindexing worth to secondschained to interestworth in existenceI am an hour Everything I say or doleaves

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Folk Song

Some justice is whore justicebecause more justice is wrongI am the neophyte plebeianposing as exemplar, dredging syllables into songI take

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Half Way Home

Santa Claus is coming to see me and I’m only half way home…Gary. Gary!What, dammit!“?”Uh, sorry. What are you doing

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Misreadings

Context. Inner dialogue. Individual narrative. The private hell. This brain map A Being becoming. A person in his mid fiftieshaving

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Normal People

Why can’t you write about normal people; why does have everything have to be crazy with you? I don’t write

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