a better question

In the end,

I suppose the better question is:

how does the ocean feel

about us?

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I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d


I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa


We’re not always looking for an ancient cadence. Sometimes the many-pistoned hum is enough. The beginning and end of every journey: our freedom is to incantate, our freedom is to turn to something new

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