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Thursday, May 27, 2010

a poem for d.a. levy and three reblogs

FOR d.a. levy

Oh little duck squat in your beer.

Such raggedy mornings lope up the hill

and empty their pockets into my room.

I remember April on the coast of France

Wind coming in over the tops of waves

and pushing against the shore.

And now this soft light moves

in and out the door wearing the sun

like it was a gunbelt, aiming the mind

of the child at the stars and firing.

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