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Saturday, August 7, 2010

Lines from Club Charles

vi. summer slaughter

Gargantuan withered midsummer leaves
wilder than despots after midnight
never learn to pace the sun,
spread quickly, die slowly,
so what that's that.

Disintegrating infrastructure grows on you.
Ivy on the chain link
grows on you.

And what makes any sense
gets more and more specific to the year,
to poor outdating policies
distant students will never understand,

designed to crumble like a warehouse in the rain
or cigarettes burning to the heart
of what can we escape with?

I do believe we are destined for je ne sais quois
saved for some reason or chance which-is-which
in a flash of paper whispers
by starving children jealous of our crimes.

I said no more runnin as I ran

said how I hate the nick of time!

and how an indistinguished garden joins the underbrush.

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