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May 2015
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July 2015

June 2015

mostly on the outside

I’d be good at not saying and not saying it
I’d be good in the long term
Scion of silence in its goodness or
Scion of embarrassments, scion of shame
I’d be good

From one of the outlying places
Slammed into a memoir sold like a carrot
Good for anyone’s eyes in the
Empire’s bloody mean village
I’d be good

I’d be good at the edge
Of an affectionate rockabilly stance
In the park of a tree
On the step where you see
I’d be good

except that he is new

all psychological
like a burr on a dry stem

out of a note … a new
route … lost & losing

my x-class
constructions so clearly caucasian

da privilegio
da plume da plump da play

all upended depended
like on a bond or a blonde

or begin a scholar
all of something more uncertain

the innocuous maple tree

formerly the useless … takes its beauty from the other queer settlers …

hadn’t I asked you a thousand times … and hadn’t you grown up knowing …

songs are apple-like in their inedible seeds … well, that’s wise

of you … but this maple … cornered as it is … can only cough slight

conclusions … about living … like a little kid in his or her winter

grippe … or take me, for example … one so anxious to understand safety …

that standing next to whatever’s broken … consoles an old tree with

arboreal mischief … tunes us both as lesser gods … translates most

of this loss into urgent play … into muscles of miraculous intent