No / I have not / been /a helicopter bouncing down the desert on a string – to liven / enliven / foreshorten / work apart a braid of yellow hair – ’eerie rice’- that’s what I always say – potshots from the plank, infrequent rain, Gram wearing his wooly poncho in the background. We drive to mexico again just to drive to mexico again, an-idle kaleidescope * yodel that * as winds soften the hairs about your face / I am sceptikle, I am / the hamstring of tomorrow afloat / aplomb / softening the economy all around us. Be we a tough bush of roses in the august aire, effulgent, onestarinthewholefuckingsky, w/ ‘no way of know-ing’ and folding both ways to work, some kind of ocelot pushing against us to be quiet, a barn among the snow lingering in its own perfection for how long before.
No / I have not / been
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