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Leaving New York and the calculus of blooms,
I walk in my sleep, fireflies in my cupped palm, bees and their drowning, this week a whirlwind of weather. I tricked my way here, slipped in
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I breathe the runoff and the dust
of scuffling shoes, effluvia of insects. I let my hair grow, imperceptible as bark, cherry blossoms like WWII flak in the sky. Yesterday I broke bricks across my knee.
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the light years of a continent,
my life a little less than a dollar a pound. Soon I will open the doors of my wardrobe that I bolted closed sixteen months ago.
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My tailor assures me they will fit
(she'll sew the holes in my pockets, fill them with stones from both oceans). I'll pay her in words, vows of fealty to the bluffs |
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and wetlands, desert and velvet hills.
But here the umber canyons, throbs of gold taxicabs, the centrifugal trains winding me up. Days, I say. |
| Images and text by G.Bach, 11/98 |
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