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I go to bed:

the potted plants yellow,
the jobless men went mad
            the best part,
                     often nights now
   we attempted to sleep
               buckshot and beer.
            taught words
         sending me to hell.
            cigarettes and beer
            against your breast...
      a pigeon is there too, circling,
                     but it is cold
               no women at all
            starving there
         & an unsharpened pencil.
            it just doesn't rain
& I had no feeling for things
                  sorrows beget sorrows--
                     my woman was gone
                     some recognition
pouring another beer
long black stockings.
               it let me alone?
                     leaving this will be easier
      sitting on the ground
         oranges, apples, avocados, tomatoes, cucumbers
               big rocks of ice.

18 Jan 07

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(13 more poems by this author)

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