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waves
whether the wood grain could attach itself like ocean waves without a shore or reference is not of question.
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in the kitchen I hear
a low whir existing in the gaps betweenour limbs and tax brackets our hair follicles and automobilespulsing as we blink. at night we decide to stretch outat the Strip to find last minute Christmasgifts. a light rain hums and drips on thecracked glass of our black stock sedan. the lotscreep and crack with SUVs and…
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soon it will be fall, and the soil will freeze (we are running out of time)
some licked mornings, in direct sunlight through crosshairspast the stairsof barnstoneI’d uproot the entire earth for you,one clodof soilper inchlost fromgrief, wecan dig tothe center, find our lostgaloshes the streamer’sglisten inour eyes’wake justwatch whilethe sod levelsas we kiss
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harbor
harbor a little rattle in the scaled lockedabsentlight, or plentiful–so much in solittle time, scamperits cloak, leaveits precipice keep it likea nightcapfor yournext lost shipcreeping towardsshores in anendless dark
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pulse
dull patter, a cruxbacklight, raisin-likebuds on a bloomingtree, its fruits alreadycoming into their own,rosemary peakingfrom its spentstalks like sweet dew,paint off of the porch,slats coming loose, afew I picked likesticks in the yard tostow away, in thegarage, the mandoor ajar, everymorning I openand view animpossible vistathe space betweenlike toe gaps, armspans, the pulsea chatter ofshapes…
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cusp
if it pulls youthe way it pulls mecan we ripthe cuspto find itspit, yank it out justto kiss it?
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spring manual
boorish and clunky, abarred railing, a flush of hydrangeaspring green flower starterspeeking from a grave, returnthe sun to myth the bird’s songa manual for moving on