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From "thirsty poems"


storm ants


I wish to god we could rip it up and, after dispensing
sensibly with the bits, start over. we can’t
there can be no consolation; winds angling in
like the ruin of bombers, the redolent smells of lunching
an endless summer as long as it’s deep lawn. what
it was that your letting me in on your
other secret life, eventually, would make up for its previous
absence from our life together, a psychological faith
in confession. forget it, that’s too big a breach to plug. life
darling, yes, life, y’know, what we live? derr and
love dearest, sweetie darling, love, that thing we do
doesn’t any of this ring any bells with you? how
about companionship, all that being together stuff,
a shivery, shared, experience at the opening to the tin
mine. you are. dusk, settling like a table, when glow bugs, bats call.


it’s just that we are storm ants
feckless aimless things blown
in on the paunch of trouble


uncertainly winged abdominally
strong but strictly
end of season stuff


here to swarm and to matter
gone to ground tomorrow blind
as worms, slaves and whores. ants

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