I. A Romantic Night
A romantic
night, watching the city from across the water, and he
told me about someone else’s camping
trip and a body in a river.
We all fuck
up sometimes, especially when we’re mad and our
plump kisses are losing weight. We ought to be forgetting all of
this, but we think memories are little
philosopher’s stones.
II. A Night
Romantic
Fuck
forgetting. We are watching our mad memories camping in
the stones and river water -- when we
think night kisses ought to
be romantic, but sometimes we’re all a
trip up from across the city.
A
weight of someone else’s plump philosopher’s body.
And he
told me a little about this and
especially all we are losing .
III. Omit
Aching Rant
August is
our nicest month, and who’d ’a thought it under all that
pale fog. We as poets are inherently skilled at word
games, heart
games and similar propositions, but many
will see in this no merit.
We will be
here in the cool now, shutting eyes to the leftovers. seek
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