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Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Without Meaning To

Obscured by its
own beauty

Headlamps for
hangovers

Mescaline is a
sick wet
dog

Are you
hiding? Where

are the quarters
I lent you for
food?

The flood
arrives
and beauty is

washed
to a dull
silver

the mental
cases

rings float
off fingers

chemicals
rise

Brush your
hair
with this fine

alabaster comb
a gift

from a kind
governor
who would never

let his people
go uncoiffured

Sand-colored
dust
fills cracks

in the ordinary.

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