pathetically we
amble on
through december
drugged by the body of the lake
weather report
it rains because
everyone
has an ugly heart
freeze on
contact with
the frozen
the new american poetry
is old
spine cracked glue dry
pages peeling out
brittle
stop reading poems
what’s the problem
not the going out
the coming home
from dim districts
no more
ten o’clock momentum
sometime after four
purgatorial waiting
the train
suspended between stations
all appeals for patience
all explanations
lost in static
feeling like for my sins I live
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