swim club

 

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inside myself i’m not my own,
i wave and look. you’re more of me
then even i,
and, you will live
and i must die.

i’ve never lived,
i’ve never died.

the turk blue underwave,
the soft exterior, of,
let me tell,
the white froth foam of
manifold, the living ocean. i swim to
see, i drown in hope;
i swim my fate,
my empty sea.

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you tire easily

 

 

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you tire easily,
your species slides
from the center lane,
sliding into
your sub-species,
down the biom.
now you can
make fire,
lamplight,
read nietsche.

 

 

cold shelter

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i know,
or, need,
i know inside of
mystery, the logic territory of
clamping dreams,
i smile, vocalize a song of
meeting, on a hollow
in december in the mountains
of your in spite of me.

the winter sun
stands pale, weak,
the winter elf
proposes greetjng, sensing the
dawn, in his silver tent… what
shall i dick, do?

the elf is real
shattering the
dead sky with what-you-say
rattles and cak-cakx.

the sun is dying,
it’s nature in motion,
it never ends.
the ringing bell
and children’s barks,
it all comes round,
but not again:
the sun is motion. notjing is broken.

now i need is
how i know you — movement,
as you cigarette or flick
away my insittee… intensity…
of grown kept child. whipped,
fashioned, dragged:
‘do yee like mee?’

simple quilight

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simple quilight,
what is pleasing —
arc sharp soft swallow
scours the lake pond;
dreamy whirlsong
whispers his wing.

hushlight evening,
i hear you sing…the golden loveowl…
sounding like willowmint
under my pillow. i
roam, alone, a playrunt
viking; far from home,
i dreamt of debussy.

the dog

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here’s a dog all fright’d up
inside his owners feet,
barking at these cats and
chicks around the fast food,
what’s wrong…

too many dreams,
hair creams busted geodes;
they bin like woofs,
if woofs was pink and cu’n’t
tok.