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Gasoline Wingers

Strange bird
with
oyster-wing flash
over
glistening peaks,
speaking
in fluted
whispers
of winters
less cold,
more violent,
that came often
in his short years—
often when
the worm wins
and the song freezes
and the storm
whines.

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Fog of War

I, but six inches away, cannot feel

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Bells at Eleven

Tho’ I’m a Catholic
I hardly listen to the bells
in the freshly white tower
over our old church

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Shallow Copies Only

But they can only be things.

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Whose Garden

Gaping star in furthest space,
bridge-stone wormhole to weirder
galaxies among great gaseous
glacial columns of purple,
angled piers where new tenants
whiz like firework wheels
and spin out to dense openness.

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Stranger on Ice

I slipped on frozen sidewalk
en route
to crispy cider celebration.
Cement met me quick,
embraced my hip.
I wore a helpless, gripping boot—
hers iron.
She pulled me quick.

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Gunther’s Bagels

Gunther bakes bagels,
and his wife does not approve:
“There’s bills to pay,
and here you stay
to serve up on a silver tray,
disappointment every day”—
        But who should feed the seagulls?—
“and burning through my love!”

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China Bowls

Past predator
of quantum roses
planted in
China bowls
where money shines
and blue line
lies and violets
never dye—
where will you
purchase
your next sup,
if a rose
is a rose
in a violent cup,
that crumbles
at your
trembling
touch?

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Breathtaking

Breathtaking
landscapes of the bird
high bird
with compressing sight—

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Homecoming

Watch me wave
my red fan—

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