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June 2017

no less a personage

Who has put love put love in the lane. Whose love’s been put.

There in the lane love. Has love’s eye on the road been lain.

By one who proceeds and proceeds apace. That is by one step.


And shines across the surface of a black plane the distance.

As distance in arguments in farces in plenty of dark suits.

In you and me a whiteness meets in the slack mumbling line.


where you want it to be

a new writing style hung upon the adequate
will it fix a breakfast or an election will
will it remember the fresh shirt of the line

no there are no more lines, elections, or styles
there are some hitherto coherent flavors afoot
aimed at a fruitful disintegration as we settle

the way everybody talks when everybody remembers
we settle on freedoms awkward even ugly actual
and plenty cracked in the manner of old signs