I am reading what I cannot remember, sifting the wind for a scent of meaning, perhaps, something that will stick to my bones, like poetry occasionally did in my youth (when it was read as an adjunct to the impossible pursuit of cheap sex). Now everything has taken on the air of the airport, insomnia and cleaning products. Alienation was a kind of
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Comments 8
oh really? my night terrors find me pursued by Shriner Klowns...
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