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From "thirsty poems"

the wind’s bequest

canada! what so ever the wind fetches up; from the arid field it fetches up: husk, dusk and wisdoms now forsaken what it fetches up. it will be fetched up there’s no changing it or challenging it at all and what. it lets lie what is better? left that way: seed, sedentary needing, roots, bulbs...the grotesque.

be my guest. what it lets will linger lie, restive. favouritism what the detritus will, fling up against is worthy to be swamped: impenetrate arms, of twist, of hedge row.

barn doors.

and a. and what it flings against will ask that this be so. what? it chokes, what it rasps and sears, the way, what the season tells you is also what you are capable of being told at this. juncture. there is a need for investment.


candid. and what it tells you is bound into dust dry tones deep throated homilies came raging in the lowlands but all that it holds back is stuff you crave for foam for, would almost kill for.

there is stuff, you want it. there is stuff you want. you really want to go through that door. “drink pepsi, get stuff.”

that could not be conceived of nor “guesstimated” either: and, that you want it, don’t have it, will get all amish and raise the roof at last over it.

you never really need to go through that door: and get stuff.


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