Hollywood, thanks.      I see the sun spots
now laid over the stratus.      Where we go
in the pursuit of hunger is less important
than the opening of the apple blossoms.
The sense of adventure you sing to.      All
chords are just tiny rocks from the same
echo.      Here we are single file.      I have
to trust in others for self-loathing. I had
all but one or two of those pieces stolen
by Andrew Jackson      that son of a bitch.

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And anything to make you smile

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March 6, 2014 · 4:04 pm


A trickle
from melting

is love.


Its forms
to blue

& mountain
tops cloud.

I will



A prism

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A poem from Jonathan Greene


Honored when
the butterfly lights
on my shoulder.

Next stop:
a rotting log.

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A dandelion is home
The last bits of air

& the gravity…

Her hands clasped
The shiny the blades

They called to spaces

& what does excite me
Excites me like air

& lack of commons
A familiar fortune

The god’s honest truth—

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Cry Cry Crow

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February 1, 2014 · 11:43 pm


I want to grow
Old and older
Still as a photo
Still as gallows

Older than death
With wings black
And bones not
Brittle but stone

And what would
Only memories
A mostly loved
One of the those

Writhing sounds
A harmony moan
Lost echoes ring
Crosses burning

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