down that foggy roadslow centipedes crawlplum blackberries falland the ground
the Cathedral in Cologne looks like a spaceshiplike the hand
I am not afraid when you call me downdown the
down in the valley of hollow logstwo lovers lay in
It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing
there's a mountain north of Winnipegburied under iceand as the
last night I went out walkingout on the edge of
my ghost drives around with a bag of dead fishfalling
we came in this world togetherlegs wrapped around each othermy
falling snow spun above the roadwinding through the dark woodswhere
The giant of Illinois
Died from a blister on his toe
After
Chicago is where the woman downstairsstarved herself to death last
now that there are green sproutspushing through dead leavesand fat
I remember the day my little brother brought you 'round.
Like a 3-legged dog you've called in sick. Sure there's
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