in faraway -- two-and-half-highway drive, the Californiaheat de-panels into California porn, sitting in summer lightlace tanktop and gold Cross/Saint medallion, I am kept --meeting the underworld only through the clay feet ofonce glamorous men, now revealed to be down in the moral yuck, he says the sexualization of real life versus actual real life, I… Continue reading poem: the ick after “big red son”
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 