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Burning dawn, free from the white fear of day, untroubled yet by the world, the meadow tame, and light recognized, acknowledged, rising, beginning to speak of the day as it will, in the path or lane the dream was taken down.
Following the white moon
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I remember one afternoon when Terry and I did it in broad daylight in a nearby park in Lombard, or Glen Ellen. This was after we had broken up already and I was seeing Jolene, I think, before leaving to go out to my writing program at U.C. Irvine. It wa
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Two swordsmen met in a desert. One, either, said, “If I kill you, or you kill me, these swords will last after others forget who won. Then, time & sand will whittle even them away utterly. There is no victor.” And one, either, both, or none dropped the sword…
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You made the space between time and vastness depart. Others may erect a little kingdom around themselves, but not you. You did not exult over the held-out heart. Your mind that seemed as if it was formed between two sweet, altered red lips. I always kne
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You’re ridiculous. Time travel is impossible, Steven.
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Terry had an apartment not far from Lake Michigan, where we could stroll to one of the beaches. It was close to Lincoln Park. This was in the summer of 1966. We had to walk up to the fourth floor, and on those steamy hot Chicago summer nights in August,
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In fact we were all drinking together in banquet halls (on banquet ships) with an epic poet who invented things, made things up, while dying in thorough dissipation.
Washed to shore, our souls with our lives, our shadows. And storms swept them away
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One thing I looked forward to, every afternoon, a lemon grass soda. Nobody believed there was such a soda, so I didn't talk about it. There was only one store which sold them, absurdly expensive. While enjoying my soda, I said to Pearl, “I find sex to be…
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Clayton had a grin like the hand of a beast that stretched as long as her gravel road...
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Stealing an apple or a kohlrabi walking past a fruit stall was child’s play but this was armed robbery. Prison, not reform school.
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So this has led again to my hunger over you, the lion of all people, the other I, pertaining to voice, speech, perception. I knew right away how you rose up inside me, how I could fly near your ceiling. Right away could feel the tide, rising and swollen
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Now is not the time to get into it.
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I will miss you, sure, let it be known. The memory, and the dream, both. That familiar smell of Old Spice when someone wearing it comes near. And the smell of Coppertone Suntan Lotion on the beaches of our youth in Chicago. And the pressure of your fing
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Whoever turns away from the fashion of the day, whoever escapes tradition, battles and escapes, shouting with bare feet: “I who have been human ordure, pure shit!” He or she carries every living creature and all other things disputing inside them. Peace
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"Poor Johnny, poor Johnny." He clucked his tongue.
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