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2012-04-01
grammatica


There are thoughts of suicide in the clothing racks of Mission Street thrift stores. And again on the freeway through Oakland. The opthamologist met me in a bathroom stall. She held my hand. She wrote me a prescription for the late morning. And another for the evening time when the radio rises from static. And I talk with so many hitchhikers searching for food. The bungalows are so crowded after dark. I sit on the lawn and listen to the sprinklers seducing the grass.

I begin where I should have never arrived.



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