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tearing the rag off the bush again
Arcadian Tunnel PDF E-mail
down in Boston all I did was die

Arcadian Tunnel

Distant as they are
cities will break your heart.

They are unable to disappoint.

Force of the currents
infested with burials that just won’t end.

If I were anyone else, transference
would have won out.

His tricks start to backfire.

The bride tossed him a motorway
where the spectacle was to take place.

Storm head, city of the dead.

Black windows are the only beauty
spitting out birds blown
into hawks

sandblasting weddings

letters to senators

to serve as a scream

speed black
there are no doors.

Something of the feel of a crutch.
Muted by the same dream.

Everyone is better off remaining still.

The Lows are the home of the tongue
(being an ant, being a lion).

Thin air terminal.

The rain on Mount Washington
falls at 70 miles an hour
and it’s warm.

It bleeds through lips
and erases these words.

Please advise someone else.

Credit falls from the Buddha’s footsteps.

The law will find us
at a ferris wheel
glazed with raindrops
beside the turquoise ocean.

The rain has little eyes
that see everything

each speeding bead sees
a different future.

Did I mention we were atoms too?

Ever since the monks left town.

Falling into health
down in Boston all I did was die

forgiveness for future sins
I choose to hang like a bat

cryogenic Sudan

the hurricane of Mecca

I tried to float through
photographs taken with my left hand
of white stones
our faces pressed together
to speak of dreadful episodes
as the art of love calls them

main street (secondary business street)
noise street

in the near future we’ll take that trip
once in a lifetime
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